


A Man Is His Actions

by EtLaBete



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Guilty Hanzo Shimada, Implied Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes - Freeform, M/M, Plot, Sexual Content, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Stubborn Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-07 01:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11048616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: It’s been five months since Shimada Hanzo arrived at the Gibraltar base, and Jesse McCree still can’t look him in the eye without grimacing. He tries, because he promises Genji he will, but no matter how much he wishes he could forgive and forget, Jesse just can’t accept Hanzo and what he did to his own brother. He can’t tear the man away from his actions, no matter how different he is now and how long it’s been since.Except there's more to Hanzo than Jesse realizes - more to the story of the Shimada brothers than he was privy to - and a reappearance of a mentor thought long dead throws everything Jesse thinks he knows about himself and what he believes in into chaos.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I sat down to finish my Reaper76 fic that's been sitting in purgatory for six months... and I somehow wrote 12,000 words of McHanzo instead. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ Please note that when I started this, it was supposed to be 5k words tops. And then it just. kept. going. 
> 
> This fic is nearly finished already, so expect relatively quick updates; I do not have a beta, so there may be typos; and as always, thank you so much for reading! :)

It’s been five months since Shimada Hanzo arrived at the Gibraltar base, and Jesse McCree still can’t look him in the eye without grimacing.

He’s tried. He really has. He told Genji he would, and Jesse McCree keeps his promises. He doesn’t spit or snarl or speak out loud the words running through his head. He’s tentative around the archer, avoids him as much as he can to minimize butting heads. He listens when he talks during meetings and has no problem working with him on the field because he’s a helluva shot. 

Except try as he might, it doesn’t work. 

He knows that Hanzo is trying to atone for a past he regrets. He sees the weight of it on the archer’s shoulders, sees the way he watches Genji sometimes, like he can’t believe his luck. And hell, they’ve all made bad decisions, and some have made worse decisions than others, Jesse included. His past isn’t spotless. There’s a lot of blood on his hands.

Not his family’s blood, though. And apparently that makes all the difference. Jesse isn’t one for boundaries a lot of the time— he knows that sometimes you have to play dirty to win. Except the Shimada elder elicits the same twist of his gut that Gabe elicited towards the end of Overwatch, and for the life of him, he can’t forget the first time he met Shimada Genji, a man who has become one of his closest friends. Genji, who was brought to Overwatch in tatters and barely alive. Genji, who had to relearn how to walk and breathe and eat after being bedridden and hooked up to machines for months. Genji, who was so angry and hurt and alone at the same time Jesse was angry and hurt and alone but still managed to laugh at his belt buckles and play cards with him late at night when Jesse couldn’t sleep because of nightmares chock full of gun fire, sand, and blood. 

So, Jesse looks at Shimada Hanzo, and while he wishes he could with all his might, he can’t accept him. He can’t tear the man away from his actions, no matter how different he is now and how long it’s been. 

***

“I wish you would give him a chance,” Genji says one night as they sit on the roof watching a storm roll in. 

Jesse sighs, cigarillo smoke expelled into the air in front of him. “Partner, I’ve tried. Honest. How many times do we gotta have this conversation?”

“As many times as it takes. If I can forgive him, then you can, as well. It is not too much to ask.”

“I ain’t no Shambali monk, Genji.”

The cyborg shakes his head, and Jesse has no doubt that he’s rolling his eyes behind his visor. “Do I look like a monk to you? Perhaps I should have you meditate with my Master so that you may find some peace regarding this issue.”

“No amount of meditation and incense or whatever the hell y’all do is gonna change how I feel. I’m sorry, Genji. I truly am. I don’t wanna make trouble for ya. But goddamn, I just can’t move past it.”

“You are no angel,” Genji begins, voice rising.

“Never said I was, but this ain’t the same as my past. I killed good people, but they weren’t my family. They weren’t my own blood.”

Genji’s hands curl into fists in his lap. His perfect posture seems even more rigid, and his plating glows eerily in the dusky light altered by the oncoming storm. “The man who struck me down was not my brother. The man who sits in the rec room right now and plays some ridiculous game with Hana, that is my brother.”

Jesse just sighs and shakes his head. He doesn’t buy it. A man is his actions, plain and simple. 

“You cannot understand,” Genji continues, raw emotion cutting through the tinny sound of his modulated voice. “You cannot begin to understand what the Shimada did to him, and I did not help him. I was only too glad to be rid of their attentions, too determined to fly free, while Hanzo was chained.” 

“Don’t do that. None o’this is your fault. It ain’t your fault, what happened to your brother. He’s his own man. He coulda done somethin’.”

“Could he, though? I sometimes wonder, especially in the years after father died. You have seen brainwashing, Jesse. A product of such horrible mind games sniped you in the shoulder just a few months ago, and yet I do not think you would blame Amelie for the actions of Widowmaker.” 

Jesse tenses. “It ain’t the same.”

“It is the same!” Genji snarls. 

Jesse starts and turns to look at Genji, eyes wide. They’ve talked about this so many times, but he’s never seen Genji explode like this. He is always so calm, so collected, that the sudden outburst sets his nerves more on edge than they were before. He’s afraid he may say the wrong thing, so he doesn’t say anything else all. 

This time, Genji shakes his head. “You could at least be civil.”

“I am bein’ civil!” Jesse snaps, nerves rubbed raw. The anger and frustration burn hot in his chest, making his heart thud uncomfortably against the confines of his ribs. “If I wasn’t bein’ civil, you’d damn well know it ‘cause I’m pretty sure there’d be bullets n’arrows flyin’. Can’t imagine your brother would tolerate me bein’ up in his face. This is as much as I can offer, Genji.”

Genji does not reply. The storm is only about twenty minutes, maybe a half hour out now. The darkness of it coats the horizon like a blemish, moving like dust storms in the desert. Jesse can feel the static in the cool air. He removes his hat and runs a hand through his hair. 

“I am taking my leave.” Genji stands, vents puffing. 

“Genji, don’t be like that,” Jesse calls after him.

Genji gives him the finger before going inside.

Jesse stays on the roof until the storm is nearly upon the base, chain smoking like he hasn’t done in quite some time. The clouds roll in thick, grey funnels, trying their best to outrace each other, and the ocean churns until the choppy surface is foam from the violent waves. There’s lightning in the distance even though he can’t hear the thunder yet. Jesse keeps a hold of his hat so the wind doesn’t take it and closes his eyes, letting the chilled, violent air caress his cheeks. 

When he finally goes inside, clothes and hair damp, the halls are empty. He finds the majority of the base’s occupants piled into the largest of the rec rooms watching some old action film. They’re grounded for now while Winston gets some legal issues sorted out after their last mission, so the team is taking advantage and spending the time together since it’s rare that they’re all in the same base at the same time. 

Genji glances over his shoulder when he hears the click of the Jesse’s boots. His visor is off, set aside on a table so he can better enjoy the film, and if Jesse thought it was rough not being able to see his friend’s face in times of high emotion, it’s even worse to see the disappointment in his eyes before he turns away.

Jesse isn’t in the mood. The anger still burns, and his dinner sits like lead in his stomach, so he decides a warm shower and a few sips of whiskey might do him some good. He takes the short cut through the side halls, but stops outside the kitchen when he hears voices. 

“Coffee so late,” Hanzo tsks, an amused lilt to his voice. “How daring.”

“It’s more of a comfort thing,” Jack supplies, obviously uncomfortable. “Pretty sure the green tea you’re drinking has caffeine in it.”

Hanzo is silent for a few moments and then murmurs, “It is, as you say, a comfort thing. Though perhaps it would be in my interest to choose a chamomile next time.”

“Ugh,” Jack snorts, but it sounds goodnatured. 

Jesse curses and presses himself agains the wall. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just saunter on by. He should. He’s not the eavesdropping type — not usually, anyway — but something roots him to the spot.

“Seems like you’re settling in okay.”

“For the most part, I am. Thank you.”

“McCree still giving you a hard time?”

Hanzo says, “Not at all,” but there’s enough of a pause before the words that Jack catches on. Even Jesse catches on, and he doesn’t know the man well enough to tell his moods from Adam. 

“You’re a shit liar, Shimada.” 

Hanzo laughs softly, but the sound isn’t happy. It’s tired. “I do not blame him. Perhaps it would be more vexing if I did not deserve his ire. As it is, I am surprised any of you have accepted me so readily, but I know he is a good friend of my brother’s and has been for many years. He is within his right not to trust me. I do not fault him.”

“Genji vouched for you. I’ve known him a long time, too, and I trust his judgement.”

Hanzo hums. “My brother has always exhibited poor judgement. There is a reason he was abhorred by the elders of our clan so strongly. And so, in response to Genji’s continued poor judgement, here I am, at your service.” 

They’re silent for a few moments, and Jesse almost extricates himself, but then Jack speaks. 

“He doesn’t know, does he?”

“Excuse me?” Hanzo asks stonily. 

“Your brother. He doesn’t know you’re the one who called Overwatch to save his life after you cut him down.”

Jesse feels the blood rush out of his face. His heart lurches. There’s the sound of a chair skidding and ceramic hitting the table, and then Hanzo mutters what Jesse assumes are curses under his breath in Japanese. Even without seeing his face, Jesse can tell he must be seething.

“I’m gonna take that as a no,” Jack says lightly. 

“How do you know about that?” Hanzo sneers.

“I’ve got clearance.” A heavy pause. “Also, Angela told me. Knowing your history with your brother, I was surprised that she was so gung-ho for you to join our ranks, considering she’s the one who put Genji back together. I would have thought she’d oppose it. Once she told me you’re the one who called in the med evac against the wishes of your family and got him to the drop point, I understood.” 

“That matters not,” Hanzo starts, voice strangled, but Jack cuts him off. 

“It does matter. Is she the only one who knows? You haven’t told anyone else?”

“No, I have not, and I would prefer it stay that way. I do not want the others to know. I especially do not want Genji to know.”

“Why?” Jack asks, and he sounds genuinely puzzled. 

Hanzo’s voice is just loud enough that Jesse can make out the words. “He would let it cloud his judgements of me. It would do the same to the others. I do not deserve that kind of light to be cast upon me.”

A pang in Jesse’s chest spreads like wildfire until he can’t quite draw in a full breath. 

Jack sighs. “You’re a strange man, Shimada.”

“It cannot erase what I did,” Hanzo says lowly. He sounds pained, like there’s a lump in his throat. “Doing a good deed directly after committing a horrendous wrong only means the regret is more poignant. I let my grasp for power cloud my judgement. I allowed some tainted sense of duty and honor to twist my priorities against me—” he laughs there, rather unkindly, “—and I killed my brother. That is the most important thing. It is what defines me, not some measly phone call—”

“He’s not dead, and I can imagine it wasn’t a goddamn measly phone call, considering the Shimada-gumi’s head butting with Overwatch back in the day. Did they punish you, after?”

“But the intent was there,” Hanzo snaps, avoiding Jack’s question. “I assumed he did not make it, so much so that I did not try to find out if he was alive, and when I heard no word of him months later…” He swallows audibly. “I was a coward.” 

“I get it, you know,” Jack sighs. He sounds tired, too, his voice gruff. “I had a colleague, back in the day. He was the best friend I ever had, and I’m pretty sure my climbing the rungs and leaving him behind is the reason he lost it. I knew it was happening and I convinced myself I couldn’t do anything to stop it, that he wouldn’t want my pity.”

“You speak of Gabriel Reyes.”

“Yeah.”

Jesse doesn’t need to hear anymore. He knows Jack and Gabe’s story, and the last thing he wants to do is listen to it again, especially now. Especially after listening to Hanzo, because nothing in the man’s voice hinted at untruth. He turns on his heel and heads back for the roof, desperate for the outside air and openness because he feels like a vice is closing in around him. He sits in the rain until his teeth chatter, all the while his own mantra— a man is his actions—repeat in his head. When he goes back inside, he makes sure to avoid the kitchen. 

He sleeps like shit even with the whiskey.

***

He sees Hanzo ghost around base over the next few days, and there’s a marked difference in how he carries himself. He’s quieter than normal, which is troubling considering the man hardly ever speaks more than ten words strung together unless he is with Hana, who seems to be the only one who can make him smile. He avoids some of his team members who have taken a genuine liking to him. He avoids Genji, too, who shoots Jesse withering looks as if it’s all Jesse’s fault. 

Maybe it is. Jesse isn’t sure what to think anymore. 

He’s at a crossroads with himself. Part of him agrees with Hanzo. Like he told Genji even before he knew about his brother’s reaching out to Overwatch, trying to remedy a mistake doesn’t erase the mistake. The fruit of his bloody labor is still there, scars hidden behind carbon plating and glass.

And yet, it makes him wonder what kind of fight was happening in Shimada Hanzo’s head that allowed him to kill his own brother and then do everything against his family’s wishes to save him. 

***

“You look like you’re thinking really hard about something,” Jack comments one afternoon as he watches McCree with a squinty look. “This about you eavesdropping on a private conversation the other night?”

Jesse blanches. “Why, whatever d’ya mean?” 

“Don’t play dumb. I heard your spurs in the hall.” 

Jesse sighs. “I didn’t mean t—“

“Keep thinking about it,” Jack says and then walks out of the room. 

***

One minute they’re grounded like cloistered nuns, and the next Jesse is being ushered onto a transport ship at five o’clock in the morning with Lena in the pilot’s seat and Jack, Reinhardt, Lucio, and Mei strapped in besides him. They’re on their way to Dorado after a particularly violent and devastating increase in Talon activity has turned the city’s inhabitants into ghosts, hidings in their homes because they’re too afraid to step outside. Intel tells them that Talon is usurping the Los Muertos territory in an effort to recruit and amass weapons. The power struggle will level the city if someone doesn’t do anything. 

Winston says, “To hell with politics,” and then they’re on their way. 

The mission goes up in flames within the first twenty-four hours. 

Jesse isn’t sure if they underestimated Talon or if they just overestimated themselves, but they’re about a dozen men shy of being able to quell the the number of Talon and Los Muertos operatives flooding the streets. Many of the automobiles showcase shattered windshields, smoke pouring from beneath the dented hoods, and many of the houses are damaged, if not reduced to rubble. Men, women, and children scream and cry, but the chaos is too much for them to do a proper search and rescue. 

By nightfall, the city is illuminated by fire. In the distance, he hears the sound of Jack’s pulse rifle. Reinhardt bellows. He hasn’t seen a sign of the telltale blue blue of Lena’s chronal accelerator in nearly two hours.

“Get her back on the ship,” Jesse snarls to Lucio, who is supporting a dazed Mei after an explosion showered them with debris that battered and bruised him and the medic, but knocked the petite scientist out cold for nearly thirty minutes. Her glasses are crackled and sitting crookedly on her nose, and blood drips steadily down her temple and over the curve of her unusually pale cheeks. 

“Not without you,” Lucio half-yells, half pleads, but even then, he’s switched his sonic amplifier to the speed boost setting. “McCree, please.”

He shakes his head, teeth bared, and shoots an agent to Lucio and Mei’s left as he appears from the mouth of an alley. “Go. You’ll travel faster without me. You can bring the transport back to me, but you gotta go now, partner.”

The medic doesn’t argue this time. With Mei hoisted against him, he skates off, the sound of his music fading into the din of gunfire. 

Left to himself, Jesse presses his back to a wall and reloads, trying to breathe steadily enough to calm the jackrabbit-fast beat of his heart. He can hear his pulse in his ears, can feel it in the stump of his left arm where it attaches to the prosthetic. Sweat trickles down the sides of his face, slicking his hair to his temples. He’s got enough bullets to last him awhile, but he’s not sure if it’ll be enough. Even if Lucio and Mei make it to the transport and bring it back to him, he’s a sitting duck. 

“Fancy seeing you here.” 

Jesse starts, heart lurching so hard it hurts, and looks up from Peacekeeper, raising his arm with his finger on the trigger. He didn’t hear footsteps, but he isn’t surprised that someone got the jump on him when he sees Reaper standing their, his white mask glinting orange from the surrounding fire and chaos. He isn’t holding his trademark pistols, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Jesse knows the man’s leather trench coat is like the damned TARDIS for how many guns Reaper’s pulled out during other battles.

Jesse is a good shot, but he’s pretty sure this is the end of the line for him. He’s never been toe to toe with Reaper; some of he others have, especially during the first days of the revived Overwatch. He’s seen video, though. He’s watched how the monster moves, his corporeal form turning to smoke at the drop of a hat. 

“Left behind again,” Reaper tsks. “They do say history repeats itself.”

Jesse doesn’t respond. He knows the wraith is trying to goad him, and he isn’t going to let it work, except something about the voice is nagging him. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck and forearms rising. 

“I gave you a choice once when you were fighting a losing battle.” Reaper takes a step forward, black dust swirling around his boots. “I’m giving you that choice again, _cabrón._ ”

Something in Jesse’s chest cracks a little. He feels is throughout his entire body, spreading like ripples in a pond until he can barely breathe around the pain of it. 

“No,” he whispers. “No. It can’t be.”

Reaper laughs. It’s a gravelly, horrible sound, but that isn’t what causes chills to erupt down Jesse’s spine. He knows that laugh. He _knows_ that _laugh_. 

“Gabe?” he croaks. “What in the hell. You’re _dead_.”

“In a manner of speaking,” Reaper— Gabriel— replies. 

“How?”

“It’s a long story, kid, and we don’t have time for that.” The ghost takes another step forward, and then another, until his shadow falls across the tips of Jesse’s boots, swaying choppily from the dancing flames of a burning hunk of rubble nearby. “What do you say? Gonna throw in on the game?”

“I ain’t joinin’ Talon,” Jesse snarls. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?”

Reaper sighs. Smoke drifts from his shoulders, curling elegantly until they dissipate. “Things aren’t that simple, cowboy. You, out of everyone, should know better.”

The sigh is so painfully familiar that Jesse’s breath hitches. He remembers hearing sighs like that when Jesse was purposefully acting thick during debriefs. Jesse’s heart feels like it’s either trying to climb up his throat or burrow it’s way out of his chest, or maybe both. He has to force himself not to rest his metal hand against his sternum, as if that could stop it. 

“They’re going to move soon,” Reaper says lowly. “I need someone on the inside—” 

“Gabriel!” 

The voice cuts the tension in the air. Jesse’s vision is dimming with his growing anxiety, but he still sees the red glow behind and to the left of Reaper. As the wraith turns his head, Jesse pushes away from the wall and dives into a roll. Sharp, zapping pain courses through his shoulder and arm, but he makes it behind an overturned car before Soldier: 76 fires a helix rocket at Reaper’s back. 

Reaper snarls and disintegrates just before the rocket touches him. It hits the ground instead with a loud bang that rickets off of the walls of the building. Dust and small bits of rock rain down. 

“Get up!” Jack snarls, pulse rifle at the ready as he sprints towards Jesse. 

Jesse stands. “Jack,” he whispers. “It’s him. It’s Ga—”

Jack stiffens but shakes his head. “Later. I doubt he’s gone far. We need to move.”

They run. There are still bombs going off and bullets flying as black-clad Talon operatives and Los Muertos gang members go head to head in the streets. Jesse is sure he hears the ghostly laugh trailing them, but Reaper doesn’t appear again. They meet up with the transport after running for what seems like hours. Jesse nearly cries, he’s so happy to see Lucio and Mei already strapped in on either side of Reinhardt, all of them looking worse for wear but alive.

“Buckle up, luvs!” Lena says over the intercom, voice shaky.

Jesse falls into a seat next to Jack, Peacekeeper still clutched in his hand. He feels numb from the tops of his toes to the top of his head. 

“Jack,” he says under his breath. 

Jack removes his visor and leans his head back, eyes squeezed shut. He’s clenching his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck stand out like ropes. “Fuck,” the old soldier whispers to himself. 

He sounds as broken as Jesse feels.

***

Angela demands they’re all taken to medical for examinations once they land, but as soon a she’s done, it’s a flurry of debriefings with the founding members of Overwatch. Jesse can hardly concentrate enough to answer their questions. He itches for the feel of Peacekeeper in his hand, needs the weight to ground him from the weightlessness of anxiety and despair crawling through him.

“Agent McCree,” Winston says, voice loud and still somehow gentle. “Are you listening?”

Jesse grimaces. “Sorry.” 

“He needs to get some sleep,” Angela snaps, and then motions towards the others on the mission roster, who also sit at the table with dark smudges beneath their eyes. “They all do. They’re exhausted. This can wait until tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Winston sighs. “Report back here at oh-eight-hundred.”

Jesse stands to leave, but Angela stops him, her cool fingers wrapping gently around his wrist.

“Jesse,” she murmurs. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t rightly now, Angie,” he answers truthfully. 

“We all have a lot to discuss tomorrow. Please promise me that you’ll get some rest.”

“I promise,” he lies.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

***

“Can we bring him in?” 

“Do we want to risk that? Is he even Gabriel Reyes any longer? And if he is, do we want him anywhere near our base of operations? After what happened last time…”

“How is he even alive? And what is he, exactly? Why is no one else concerned about this?”

Questions and theories, ‘round and ‘round in a circle. Jesse listens until he can’t anymore, and then the voices turn to a buzz. He stares off at the wall. 

“What did he say to you again, Jesse?” Angela asks gently. 

Jesse closes his eyes and sighs. He feels a headache coming on, right behind his eyes. “He asked if I wanted t’join him, and when I told him I wouldn’t line up with the like of Talon if my life depended on it, he said I shoulda known better. He said that somethin’ big is comin’, and he needed a man on the inside.”

“On the inside of Overwatch?”

Jesse shrugs. “Jack shot him with a rocket before he could finish the thought.” 

He hunches down while they keep talking. He still isn’t sure what the wraith of his former mentor was asking of him, and he hates the part of him that thinks that maybe, just maybe, the Gabriel he knew before the fall of Overwatch is still in there, hidden behind black leather and a bone white mask. He wonders if that bridge can be mended, if Gabriel is worth trying to save. He wonders if this is just a cruel trick, dangling someone who once meant so much in front of him without him being able to reach them. 

He can feel someone staring hole into the top of his head, so looks up. Genji watches him from across the table, shoulders straight and hands clasped together. His visor is in place, but Jesse knows what he’s thinking anyway.

Jesse closes his eyes and curses under his breath.

_Shit._

***

Four days later, and Jesse’s pretty sure his head is going to explode. He’s grounded until further notice, and he can only do so much to avoid the rest of the team until he can get his head on straight. As it is, he’s not sleeping, so his patience is running thinner and thinner. 

When he does finally fall asleep on the fourth night, he wakes after an hour drenched in a cold sweat, a scream still balancing on his tongue. He sits up and pants into the darkness of the room, staring into the shadows to make sure they aren’t actually moving before he goes to the bathroom, splashes water on his face, and then leaves his quarters, lighter and pack of cigarillos clutched in his hand like an anchor. He goes to the roof smoke, but opts for a different spot than his usual in the hopes that he can avoid Genji. The cyborg doesn’t need to sleep as much as the others, so he keeps strange hours, and Jesse doesn’t have the patience for it now. He doesn’t want to talk about Reaper. He doesn’t want to think about Gabriel. He doesn’t want to think at all. 

Someone up top must hate him, though, because he finds Shimada Hanzo instead.

The other man sits with his legs dangling over the edge of the roof, dark hair released from its ribbon and floating on the cool breeze. Jesse doesn’t think he’s ever seen the archer without his hair tied back. He looks younger, somehow, with the silky blackness framing his face. He wears sleep clothes, too, just a simple a black t-shirt and dark flannel pants, another first. The moonlight highlights the gooseflesh prickling his arms from the chilled night air. His expression is somber when he turns to Jesse, and then it closes off like a guillotine. 

“Evenin’,” Jesse says weakly.

“My apologies. I will take my leave.”

Jesse holds out his hands as Hanzo goes to get up, as if he’s trying to calm a startled horse. Words he has no control over pour out of his mouth. “Your apologies? Why? You were here first.”

“I do not mind,” Hanzo says, his expression still blank. “I have no doubt that you require privacy, and it is late. I should try to sleep.”

Jesse doesn’t move even as Hanzo walks towards him, towards the door that leads inside. 

“Wait. Don’t.” He swallows the lump in his throat. “We should talk.”

Hanzo’s eyes widen a fraction, but the surprise is erased as quickly as it came. “Excuse me?”

“I have some things I wanna say to ya.”

“I think I know what you wish to say,” Hanzo says quietly, “and I would prefer not to hear it spoken aloud.” 

“Now just wait a damn minute,” Jesse starts, annoyed, but Hanzo cuts him off.

“You do not like me. I understand that. I do not even blame you. Therefore, there is nothing for us to discuss. We are, as you say, on the same page.”

It’s all said with such calm precision that Jesse’s irritation deflates rapidly. It hits him, suddenly, that the truth about Shimada Hanzo is that behind the stoic facade, he’s lonely as all hell.

“I heard you,” Jesse says, or rather, blurts out. “I heard you talkin’ to Jack.”

Hanzo visibly blanches, and then there’s just anger. Hot, dark anger. He looks like a wraith with the way the flood lights along the roof cast shadows across his sharp cheekbones and intensify the contrast of dark hair and pale skin. “Do not.”

Jesse licks his lips. “Pardon?”

“Do not pity me,” Hanzo growls and takes a step forward. 

Jesse doesn’t retreat even though a coil of fear springs loose at the feral expression on the other man’s face. “I ain’t pityin’ ya.”

Hanzo only tenses more, looking ready to pounce. “You despised me from the moment I set foot on this base. I am sure you hated me and wished me dead long before that, considering the length of your friendship with my brother. Do not let some measly bit of information erase years of distaste because you let your sentimentality get the better of you.”

Jesse snorts. “You got no right to tell me how I should feel.”

“I do not want your feelings.”

The stress of the last week following his meeting with Reaper have erased all the patience he wished he had for this conversation. “Oh, come the fuck on. I’m not confessin’ my love to you, Shimada. I’m merely tellin’ ya that it matters. You fucked up big time, and I ain’t ever gonna forgive you for that, but it matters that you wanted to save him.”

Hanzo’s hair whips around his face as a particularly sharp gust of winds cuts across them. “You know nothing about me.” 

“I’m tryna tell you I was wrong, ya stubborn boar.”

“And I am trying to tell you that you were not.”

“Do you hate yourself that goddamned much?” Jesse snaps.

Hanzo snarls back, “No more than you have hated me, I assure you!”

They stand there seething. Jesse is mad, both at himself and at Hanzo. He thinks about his years with the Deadlock, how when he looks back, he feels disconnected from that boy, like the memories of him killing people in cold blood are someone else’s. He feels the same about the last few months of Blackwatch, when Gabriel was starting to fall apart at the seams due to some invisible burden he refused to share with anyone. He realizes now that this is what Genji was trying to make him realize that day on the roof— the man standing in front of him now, the one who won’t even touch a sword, is not the same man that used steel against his own flesh and blood.

He thinks of Gabriel, of Reaper, and he realizes he’s been blind, trying to see the world in black and white. 

Even worse, he sees his own previous disbelief reflected back at him in Hanzo’s face. The archer hates himself something fierce, which means no matter what he tells Genji, and no matter what Genji tells himself, Shimada Hanzo is not here for redemption. He’s here to punish himself. He thinks he deserves this kind of treatment. Jesse suddenly feels sick, like the whiskey he drank earlier is going rancid in his belly. 

“I won’t tell him,” he finally sighs, the fight draining out of him. “If that’s what yer worried ‘bout, I won’t tell Genji.”

Hanzo scrubs a hand over his face and combs his hair back with his fingers. It’s the first sign of exhaustion the other man’s allowed to break through. The anger that burned in his eyes is gone, replaced by a weariness that Jesse has no doubt is bone, if not spirit, deep. “Even if you did tell him, it would not change much, would it? He has already forgone his common sense and forgiven me. This would only fuel his misguided judgements.”

“Forgiveness is his to give.”

“I do not deserve it.”

“Not for you to decide.” Before Hanzo can speak, he takes a step forward. He can’t seem to stop fucking talking, and he can’t seem to stop himself, neither, because the puzzle pieces are fitting together and he hates that he was so shallow and so stupid as to not see the self-hatred eating at the elder Shimada— the same self-hatred that he remembers eating at him the first few years in Blackwatch. 

“Listen,” he continues. “I ran with a gang back in the day. I’m sure you’ve heard stories or read my file or what have ya. I did a lotta things that felt necessary in the moment, but I look back on ‘em now, and I’m disappointed in myself. I ain’t that person anymore, even though it haunts me. I was isolated and young and dumb, and I let the resultin’ desperation mold me into someone I can’t imagine bein’ now.”

Hanzo stares blankly at him. “Make your point.” 

“I’ve heard enough about your life growin’ up, at least from Genji’s perspective. I don’t imagine he was too far off the mark, though. They isolated you, right? Genji himself says he left you to your own devices ‘cause he was too glad to be rid of their attentions. I bet you had no friends. I bet the only lovers you ever had were forced on you or paid. I bet you they had you doin’ things you prolly didn’t wanna do early on, but you kept doin’ and doin’ until they didn’t seem like that bigga deal anymore. That’s when the apathy set in, ain’t it?”

He takes another step forward. Hanzo doesn’t move, but there’s something in the glassiness of his eyes that speaks of fear. He’s ghostly pale, all the pink the cold fostered in his cheeks gone even though goosebumps still dot his skin. 

“And then they isolated you from Genji even more n’made him the enemy.” He sighs and drags a hand down his face, metal fingers catching on skin. “I misjudged you. Or rather, I didn’t take everythin’ in t’consideration. All I saw when I looked at you was the end result, and then I heard you talkin’ to Jack, and it damn near punched a hole in my gut, ‘cause despite everything they did to break you, part of you still tried to fight it.”

His gaze had drifted, but he looks at the other man now, and he’s surprised to find that Hanzo looks as close to tears as is probably possible with the stony grimace still smoothing his angular features. It’s there in the very subtle tremble of his lower lip, the way he swallows over and over, the curling and uncurling of his fingers.

“You tore ‘em apart, right? The Shimada-gumi. Not long after you struck down your brother, you dismantled ‘em.” 

“You must stop this,” Hanzo whispers. 

“It’s gotta come to light so you can see it for what it is,” Jesse presses, taking another step forward. “You’re goin’ down the same path. Isolatin’ yourself ‘cause you hate yourself. ‘Cause you can’t forgive yourself.”

“There is no forgiveness for me,” Hanzo snarls. 

“There is,” Jesse replies, voice uncharacteristically soft. “You just gotta grasp it by the tail and hold on tight.”

Hanzo stares at him stonily, and then he walks past Jesse, slamming the roof door behind him. 

***

The next morning, Jesse stumbles into the mess, damp hair in disarray and sleep still blurring his vision despite the cold shower he threw himself into not thirty minutes ago. He managed about four hours of sleep before he jolted awake, which is sad but also a helluva lot more than he’s been getting. Even so, he feels heavy, like his limbs are filled with lead. His boots scuff against the floor as he walks. 

Several people are still crowding the tables despite the late morning hour. It’s quieter than normal— has been every meal since they got back from Dorado. Jesse ignores them all and heads straight for the coffee pot. 

“You look like hell,” Jack grunts as he passes by, glancing up briefly from whatever he’s reading on his tablet.

Jesse flashes him a humorless smile. “Pot, kettle.”

Jack just rolls his eyes.

Jesse pours himself a cup and then without preamble, he drains the mug in four gulps. The coffee is hot, too hot not to scald his tongue, but it ignites something in him that feels a little bit like living. He pours himself another cup, leans against the counter with both hands wrapped around the mug, and blinks the world back into focus.

Genji sits at a nearby table with his brother. The elder Shimada doesn’t address him, but Genji offers Jesse a one-fingered salute. His visor is off, sitting discarded on the table next to a pot of tea. 

“He’s right, you know,” the cyborg says thoughtfully. “You look awful.”

Jesse grins, all teeth. “Not more awful than you without the windshield, partner.” 

Hanzo’s head snaps up. He stares at Jesse, mouth slightly open and eyebrows drawn down so far they would meet if not for the crease between them. Genji, however, throws his head back and laughs. It’s an old joke, but Jesse realizes now that he hasn’t made it in front of Hanzo, mostly because he did his best to avoid Hanzo altogether while on base. As he watches Hanzo watch him with a confused expression, he decides he’s going to change that. 

“At least your childish wit is fully recharged,” Genji says. “I was worried when you did not come to dinner that perhaps you had died, since it is not like you to miss a meal.”

Jesse shrugs and sips his coffee. “Whiskey—”

“Is not dinner, Jesse McCree,” Angela says as she walks towards him, heels clicking rhythmically. She stops in front of Jesse, peers around him, and sighs. “You do realize that the coffee does not magically make itself.”

“But Angie, I ain’t sleepin’—”

“That will not work on me.” She swats at him until he moves over.

Jesse plants a kiss on her cheek. “Make the hazelnut one, will ya? That one’s my favorite.” 

“You menace,” Angela hisses. 

Genji laughs, and Jack just shakes his head, and then the room settles into silence spare the sound of the coffee maker. Jesse doesn’t mind it. Some of the tension has eased off, and Jesse finally feels like he can breathe. He continues to drink his coffee while leaned up against the counter and bumps shoulders with Angela when she does indeed top off his mug with a piping hot hazelnut brew. He watches her leave, ponytail swaying with her step, and then he glances back towards the Shimada brothers. Genji is looking at something on his phone, but Hanzo is watching him. 

Jesse offers him a cheers with his cup and a wink, then saunters out of the mess towards the practice range. 

***

He makes an effort after that to say hello to Hanzo whenever he sees him. At first, Hanzo ignores him completely, but his will is worn down by Jesse’s persistence, and after a few days, he stiltedly answers with a formal, “Agent McCree.”

Genji corners him eventually while he’s hiding out in one of the less traveled rec rooms. Jesse tilts his tablet towards his chest ever so slightly, not wanting to let the other agent see the content. 

“You have had a change of heart, it seems,” the cyborg says nonchalantly. 

“Not sure what ya mean.” 

“Please tell me this is not some game, Jesse. I do not find it funny, and I do not think my brother will handle it well if your attentions are false.” 

Jesse sets the tablet aside, screen down, and then takes off his hat. He looks up at Genji, who stands in front of him, hands on his hips. The stance reminds him of Ana Amari, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders when she’ll crawl back from the dead, too. He thinks he’ll be disappointed if she doesn’t complete the triangle Jack and Gabe have started to construct. 

“I ain’t playin’ a game with him, Genji. I thought things over real hard, and you were right. I wasn’t giving the guy a fair chance.”

Genji tilts his head to the side. “I will ask you to repeat the part about me being right shortly, and I will most definitely record it, but first, what changed your mind?”

Jesse sighs and leans his head back against the cushion of the couch. He stares at the ceiling and swallows around the sudden lump in his throat before he speaks. He hasn’t talked to anyone about this, not yet, but he thinks Genji is probably the only person who will completely understand the way his mind is racing, trying to feel out all the possibilities. 

“This business with Reaper has me thinkin’, is all,” he says. “I dunno what he’s become, and I dunno if there’s any chance of reelin’ him back to us, but I would wanna try. Even after everything he’s done, what with Blackwatch and Talon and who the hell knows what else… I would wanna try.”

“As I have with my brother, despite his wrongs,” Genji murmurs.

“The way Gabe did with me,” Jesse affirms and relaxes back into the couch. It feels god to get it off of his chest, finally. “And Gabe, he’s even worse than all of us, ain’t he? Technically speakin’, I think he’s in the “cuttin’ down your brother” phase for the second time since it kinda happened at the end of Blackwatch and then again with the whole Talon business.” Jesse pauses, and then adds, “If we’re going by Shimada milestones, that is.” 

Genji snorts. “You are incorrigible.” 

Jesse grins toothily at his friend. “Good looks let you get away with a lot.”

He expects another retort, but instead, Genji murmurs a soft, “Thank you, Jesse. This means a great deal to me, and whatever you said to Hanzo has struck a chord in him, as well.”

Jesse’s immediate instinct is to deny it. “I didn’t say—”

Genji holds up a hand to silence him. “He told me that he ran into you the other night and that you exchanged words, though he would not tell me what was said. I do not need you to break that confidence, either, since he did not wish to share it with me, but there has been a marked improvement in his demeanor. He even agreed to meditate with me and Zenyatta.” Genji laughs softly at that. “I have been trying to include him since not long after he arrived here, and he refused every time until three days ago .”

He doesn’t know what to say, so Jesse doesn’t say anything. 

Genji leans forward and clasps a hand on the cowboy’s shoulder. “I am with you, no matter how all of this plays out.”

Jesse’s chest feels tight, tight enough that he doesn’t think he can speak, now, so he places his metal hand atop Genji’s and gives it a squeeze.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has become a behemoth. I said 12,000 words, but I just hit 20,000 and that number is still climbing. 
> 
> I regret nothing. 
> 
> Many thanks for the kudos and comments - you are all lovely. And as always, no beta, so please pardon any weird typos.

He still doesn’t sleep much, at least not before three o’clock in the morning. Despite the usually warm temperatures, a cold snap has settled over the sea, so Jesse has to forgo the open expanse of the roof and star-lit sky for the kitchen, which is… fine. It doesn’t give him the same sense of calm and freedom, but no one bothers him all the same. The only person ever up in the middle of the night is Hana when she streams, and she generally stays in her room unless she needs to hunt through the pantry for chips, so he can smoke to his heart’s content without worrying that the smoke will bother someone. Or that it will get back to Angela that he’s smoking indoors. 

So here he is, at a little past midnight, sitting by his lonesome in the kitchen with a cigarillo resting precariously between his lips and his hands wrapped around a cup of fresh coffee he made when he couldn’t stomach the thought of drowning himself in whiskey. It’s unlikely he’ll go back to sleep, anyway, so what’s a little coffee going to do other than at least make him feel human? 

“Agent McCree.” 

Jesse’s head snaps up, ash from the end of cigarillo falling to the tabletop.

Shimada Hanzo stands in the doorway to the kitchen, his hair down and tucked behind his ears. He’s in sleep clothes again, and there are dark smudges that tell Jesse he’s sleepless again, too. 

“Shimada-san,” Jesse intones with a nod. “I don’t mind high-tailin’ it somewhere else if it’s solitude you’re wantin’.” 

Hanzo gives a quick shake of his head and then heads to the counter, where he fills the electric kettle with water and retrieves two mugs and two teabags from the cabinet. 

Jesse blinks. “You expectin’ someone else?”

Hanzo doesn’t speak, just glances at him over his shoulder with a cryptic expression, before he turns back to the kettle and waits for the water to boil. Jesse can’t help but watch him. The tasks are simple, and yet all of Hanzo’s movements are so very deliberate and so goddamned graceful. Always in control. He wonders what the man would be like if he let loose.

 _A force to be reckoned with_ , Jesse muses. 

He should have expected it, but the cowboy is still surprised none the less when Hanzo sets a mug in front of him before snatching the cup of coffee away from Jesse’s lax grip. The mingling scents of chamomile, mint, and honey waft up on the steam rising from the mug. Jesse stares down at it stupidly before glancing at Hanzo, who sits across from him.

“I don’t like tea,” Jesse says. 

“I added a significant amount more honey than one should this late to make it more to your taste,” the archer replies without making eye contact. His hair slips forward like silk, covering part of his face, but Hanzo makes no move to tuck it back behind his ear. 

Jesse just blinks. “But I don’t _like_ tea.”

Hanzo actually rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips curling up every so slightly. “You’ll never settle back into an acceptable sleeping habit if you continue to imbibe coffee at all hours of the day.” He pauses. “Perhaps next time you can try adding some whiskey to it, if that will change your preferences. At least that would allow you to sleep.”

He watches the other man gingerly sip his hot tea, and something in his stomach flips around and buzzes a bit. He’s not sure if it’s guilt, or god help him… he doesn’t even want to think about what bottoming out insides are the telltale sign of. 

“Listen,” he starts, but Hanzo’s sudden sharp gaze stops the words on his tongue.

“Thank you,” the archer says lowly, and he looks like he’s forcing himself to keep eye contact. There is the slightest tinge of pink on along the tops of his high cheekbones.“For your words the other night. I have thought on them, and I appreciate the sentiment, especially coming from you.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Jesse says immediately. “I meant what I said, but it was a selfish lecture, considerin’ the recent events. I’m a selfish bastard. Took me all together too long t’set myself straight.”

“Be that as it may, I am still thankful. You were correct in your assessment. I have spent the last ten years alone by my own volition, and it is only serving to darken the parts of myself I had hoped to restore by leaving the Shimada. I wanted to be better, for myself and for Genji, and I have been setting us both up to be disappointed. Your words, while they stung, made me realize this.” Hanzo closes his eyes and bows his head before he raises his mug to his lips. 

Jesse’s hands tighten around his own mug. Along with the fluttering in his stomach, now he’s got the same feeling in his chest as he did when he spoke to Genji, the tight one that makes it hard to talk or breathe. Hanzo must sense it, or he’s overdone himself, too, because he doesn’t speak again, and they sit for the next little while in a comfortable silence as the minutes tick by and the sun climbs up towards the horizon line. 

After that, he meets Hanzo in the kitchen a few nights a week, and not by design. Sometimes the archer isn’t there, and sometimes he is, but it becomes common enough that he already has tea made for two by the time Jesse stumbles in, sweat still clinging to his temples. They don’t speak much, and if they do, it’s about inane things, or stories about Genji that won’t rile either of them up. Hanzo does not ask about his nightmares, just like he doesn’t ask if Hanzo has them, too. Hanzo also does not ask about Reaper, which is music to Jesse’s ears, because it seems everyone else, new and old Overwatch members alike, want to talk about it. 

He can’t say he likes the taste of the tea, but it does help to calm the coldness in his chest that lingers from his nightmares, so he drinks it while he studies the crows’ feet at the corners of Hanzo’s eyes that form when he’s amused, even if he doesn’t deign to smile with his mouth. By the time he returns back to his room, even if he can’t sleep, the tension has at least drained from Jesse’s muscles. 

***

Midnight tea turns into midnight target practice. Hanzo is devastating with a bow, and he is quietly amused at Jesse’s tricks and antics that he normally doesn’t bust out on the battlefield. 

Midnight practice turns into midnight drinks where they swap sake and whiskey and insult the other’s tastes. 

Midnight drinks turns into midnight viewings of old ninja and cowboy movies, which helps lull Jesse to sleep easier than the tea, and he finds himself waking up with the sun, alone and with a crick in his neck on his favorite old couch. 

Midnight movies turns into a near constant flutter in his stomach whenever the archer is around that Jesse resolutely ignores, because that would be his luck, wouldn’t it, suddenly finding himself half enamored with a man he resolutely hated up until recently. He can’t explain it, either, and honestly, he doesn’t want to. It makes him feel even more sour at himself for the way he treated Hanzo up until Gabriel’s return. 

So he doesn’t think about it, and he says nothing, and he soaks in the calm before the storm while he still can. 

***

They don’t see Reaper again for another three months. 

Talon continues its violent upheaval, but Reaper is strangely absent from the chaos. It makes Jesse nervous, but he takes it for what it is and prepares himself. He knows Dorado isn’t going to be the last time the ghost of Gabriel Reyes inserts itself into his life, and he wants to be ready. He needs to be ready. 

Of course, it doesn’t happen like he thinks it will.

It’s a quiet afternoon on base. Jesse lounges in the rec room, hat pulled over his eyes while Genji and and Hanzo play some Japanese card game and Hana and Lucio play some old-school video game on the projected screen. It’s strangely cozy, and Jesse is nearly asleep, lulled into some strange, domestic sense of comfort, when Winston’s voice booms over the speakers. 

“All agents on base, please report to Hanger Delta immediately.” 

Jesse doesn’t wait for the others. He’s off the couch in the span of a heartbeat, spurs jingling anxiously as he hurries towards the designated hanger. 

Jack, Angela, and Reinhardt are already there when he strolls into the room. 

“Where is he?” Jesse demands, walking straight up to Jack, since he’s the only one who will make eye contact with the cowboy. He hears others trailing in behind him, recognizes the hiss of Genji’s vents, but ignores them. “Jack,” he all but snarls. 

“There’s Talon activity in King’s Row. There have been reports of explosions that have taken down at least three buildings and damaged countless others. Someone also broke into an old Overwatch base we’ve inventoried but haven’t used yet.” Jack glances away momentarily, but he makes eye contact with Jesse for the next bit. “Athena’s sensors picked up signs of Reaper in the base.”

“What is the bastard doing,” Jesse mutters, hands curls into fists.

“That’s not all.”

Jesse looks up. There’s something unreadable in Jack’s expression, and it makes Jesse’s blood run cold. 

“The buildings were Talon.”

“Talon?” Genji interjects, walking forward until he’s standing next to Jesse. “Do we know why they chose the buildings they did? Is there a pattern?”

“No,” Jack sighs and runs a hand over his face. He looks like he wants to say something else, but he clamps his lips shut. 

“Then what?” Genji asks. 

“What Jack is trying to say is that the buildings that were targeted were Talon bases of operation,” Angela supplies when Jack remains silent, “and we think Reaper is the culprit.”

“What?” some of the younger members exclaim. 

“Hell,” Jesse whispers. “It’s all startin’ to make sense.” 

“Pack up,” Winston says instead of answering the flood of questions from the others. “We head out at thirteen hundred.” 

***

Jack finds him on the transport when they’re about an hour out. Jesse’s not surprised about that. What he _is_ surprised about is that Shimada Hanzo is in tow, his gaze directed at the floor spare a single moment his eyes meet Jesse’s.

“What’s this about?”

Jack’s tone is gruff and to the point. “I know the two of you have been a bit friendlier as of late, but in case there’s still any animosity, this is a direct order, Agent McCree.” 

Jesse’s eyes narrow. “What’s a direct order?” 

“You’re to stick in sight of Agent Shimada during this mission.”

Jesse bristles instantly, sitting up from his lounging position. “I don’t need babysittin’,” he starts, voice a growl, but Jack cuts him off.

“On the off chance that Reaper tries to separate you from the rest of the team, Shimada is your shadow. Do not pull your lone ranger bullshit and go off on your own. This isn’t a game, Jesse, and we don’t know what his endgame is. He approached you once, and he’ll do it again, if it suits his intentions.”

Jesse looks past the older man. Hanzo watches the floor for a moment longer, then glances up, as if he can feel Jesse’s gaze on him. They stare at each other for several drawn out second before Jack grunts. 

“Remember, McCree, this is a direct order. Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” he drawls, but he continues to meet Hanzo’s inscrutable gaze with one of his own.

Jack turns on his heel and leaves, but Hanzo doesn’t. He stands there, a picture of discipline in the square set of his shoulders and the upward angle of his chin. Jesse feels a conflicting fire in his gut, a strange mix of lust and ire, and he’s sure the ire’s going to win out by the end of whatever conversation is going to occur.

“I am with you,” Hanzo says quietly, after a few more moments of silence, “no matter your decision.” 

Jesse can’t help but flinch, and goddamn, it’s definitely not the ire wining out. He’s heard those same words from Genji over the years, over and over and over. _I am with you._ He never thought about it before, just assumed it was some strange line— and who is the resident cowboy to judge someone for wanting a catch phrase— but for the first time, Jesse realizes it must actually be a Shimada family thing. If that’s the case, it’s not strange for Genji to say it to him, not after everything they’ve been trough, but for Hanzo… it sets Jesse’s pulse racing right quick.

He thinks he manages to stay relatively calm and collected when he says, “Pretty sure that ain’t what Jack had in mind.”

Hanzo tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow arched. It’s the closest thing to mischievous Jesse’s ever seen on the archer’s face. “I am with you nonetheless.”

Screw calm and collected. 

“Why?” Jesse rasps.

“When Genji approached me in Hanamura on the anniversary of his death, I am sure he came of his own accord, without asking any of you if you minded my following him. Genji has always been the type to ask for forgiveness instead of permission, and I do not think that particular trait has eluded him despite his newfound maturity.” 

Hanzo’s lips quirk into a smile, and Jesse is mortified to feel his heart twist with it. 

“His arrival was the moment of truth for me, though, a turning point, and while I did not take hold of that second chance fully until recently, it has made all the difference in the course of my life.” Something softens the sharpness of the archer’s facial features, something like understanding. “I know that you will want to offer this man the same, and I trust that if it does not go as you hope, you will not act rashly. I do not think you would risk the rest of your team for this man if it does not seem like he is able to be saved.”

“You’re assuming a whole lot about me,” Jesse manages. 

Hanzo shrugs elegantly. “If you think that I am wrong and that I should act differently, tell me so, and I will listen. If you do not, then…” He shrugs again. “I am with you, Jesse McCree.” 

Jesse swallows against the sudden dryness of his mouth and throat. His nerves are on fire, and he’s not sure what to do with them, so of course the words that come out of his mouth are: “You’re liable to give a man the wrong impression, spoutin’ such bold declarations as that.” 

Hanzo grins. Jesse isn’t expecting such a rakish response, doesn’t think he’s seen Hanzo smile with his whole face before, and he’s loath to realize the man has dimples. _Dimples._

“My arrow always finds it mark,” the archer says, and then he turns and walks back towards his brother at the other end of the transport.

Jesse expels the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and mutters, “Set ‘em up, knock ‘em down.” 

He's definitely in trouble.

***

He’ll never say it out loud, but of course Jack was right.

Talon is scattered and even more feral than normal. The streets are flooded with agents who are presumably looking for Reaper, and it doesn’t take long before Jesse is separated from the rest. He follows the sound of shotguns, all the while aware that Hanzo dashes across roofs to keep up with him. He could lose the archer. He knows that. But the chaos has him on edge— not knowing what Gabe’s planning has him on edge— and Hanzo’s presence takes some of the sting away. 

“Talon ahead,” Hanzo’s gruff voice says in his ear, so Jesse cuts behind a building, boots clattering down the stone steps, and stops before he hits the landing. Reaper stands there, mask perfectly white despite the ash hanging in the air. 

“Hey, cowboy,” the wraith drawls.

“What the hell are you doin’?” Jesse demands before he can stop himself. “What in the hell is this accomplishin’?”

“I’m finishing it.”

Jesse grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts. “Finishin’ what?” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know, a lot that Overwatch doesn’t know.”

“Cut the cryptic bullshit,” Jesse snaps, “and tell me. Whose side are you on? And what the fuck happened to you?”

His former mentor seethes. “You want a history lesson now?” 

Jesse doesn’t budge. “No time like the present.”

The wraith sighs, like talking about this is an inconvenience. “Talon was seeping into Blackwatch long before the base blew. I don’t care what anyone says, but it’s damn near impossible to keep corruption out of government operations. After a while of fighting, you can only do so much. You know the saying, cowboy. If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.”

“If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?” Jesse repeats, his lips curling in disgust. “You of all people, goin’ down that road.”

The ghost snorts. “It’s not in the way you think. It was more of a Trojan horse type of play.” 

“You tryin’a tell me you were fighting ‘em from inside their own ranks? Forgive me if I don’t buy it, all things considered.”

“You don’t have to. Doesn’t mean it isn’t true. In fact, why don’t you ask? I left them a present. I’m sure Athena told them about my being there.”

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by Hanzo’s quiet, calm voice erupts in his ear as he requests a status report on the search of the old base. Jesse stands stock still, listening to static while the ends of Reaper’s trench coat fizzle to dust that curls prettily in spirals, before Winston’s voice cuts through. 

“There was a drive,” the scientist says. “It contains a list of Talon bases, inventory, and operatives, including detailed medical records for agent codenamed Widowmaker.”

Jesse feels sick to his stomach. He still isn’t sure what the hell is going on, and he has a horrible feeling that none of it’s going to end the way he hopes it will. “What’s your endgame?” he demands of Reaper. “What are you tryin’a pull?” 

“I was originally hoping to feed you information. I’ve gathered a lot over the years, and I could have gathered more with someone else to deliver it. I waned to keep myself out of it as much as I could, so I could keep working them, but then Jack showed up in Dorado and threw a wrench in those plans.” He sighs dramatically, smoke drifting from around the edges of the mask. “He did always end up dealing with things on my own when Jack was involved.” 

“Why didn’t you just come forward? Why do things this way? You ain’t even a vigilante, with everythin’ you’ve done.”

Reaper shrugs.“That bridge burned a long time ago.” 

“That ain’t true.” 

The other man doesn’t reply, just removes the mask. 

Jesse feels the blood rush out of his cheeks. The man staring back at him is most definitely Gabriel Reyes, except he isn’t the same. There’s black surrounding red pupils and a gleaming, white smile of sharpened teeth. His skin is grayed and taut over his strange features, not quite the color of a dead man, but not the warm, sun-browned skin Jesse remembers. 

“Like I said, kid, that bridge is burned.”

Jesse takes a step forward, eyes locked on the undulating skin of Gabriel’s cheek. “What did this to ya?” 

“Beats me. Talk to Angela. Maybe she can enlighten us both.”

Jesse flinches. “Angie?”

Gabriel’s grin is wolfish. “You starting to see why the bridge is burned, _cabrón_?” 

“Fine, then. If the bridge is burned, then why do it at all? What’s in it for you, if y’never planned t’come back?”

The smile slowly slides off of his face. “Closure.”

“What kinda fuckin’ closure is there?” Jesse demands, gesturing between them. “This ain’t closure. This is some goddamned fan service, is what it is. Come back, Gabe. There’s still a place for ya with us. This don’t have to be it.” 

He expects the other man to laugh at Jesse’s fervent, impossibly hopeful plea, but Gabriel just stares at him, frowning. There’s more smoke drifting from his clothing now, and for a moment, Jesse thinks he might actually agree, he might try to help them fix everything that’s been broken over the years— 

“It’s not in the cards,” Gabriel finally says, voice gravelly. “I’m too far gone. The drive should give Overwatch everything it needs to make quick work of Talon, at least the larger cells. Don’t waste it.” 

Something inside of Jesse that’s been pulled taut ever since that day in Dorado finally snaps. He’s never had much of a family, and the family he has now, Gabriel’s the one who forged it. He refuses to give that up, not when there’s a chance. Without preamble, he stalks up to Gabe and grabs him by the lapels of his trench coat, tugging him forward only to push him back so that the other man’s head slams against the brick well. 

“No. You don’t get to decide this, after everythin’ you’ve done. It ain’t up to you. You belong with us, so come the fuck back home, Reyes.”

Gabriel sags against the wall, throws his head back, and does what Jesse’s been expecting all along— he laughs. 

“Agent McCree,” Hanzo murmurs in his ear, voice nearly inaudible over the sound of the horrible cackling.

“You’re a coward,” Jesse seethes, shaking the other man. “A goddamned coward. You were better than this. I know you are still better than this!”

“Agent McCree.” Hanzo growls in his ear, urgency increasing as Jesse ignores him. “McCree, are you even listening to me?” And then, “Damnit, Jesse!”

It’s the use of his first name in Hanzo’s accented voice that finally penetrates the tunnel-vision. He’s vaguely aware that the archer’s never called him anything but Agent McCree or occasionally McCree or McCree-san. Even so, the disruption rubs at his nerves in the worst possible way.

“What?” he still snarls.

“Move aside now!” Hanzo snaps.

Jesse doesn’t know why he listens. He doesn’t want to step aside. He wants to pummel Gabriel Reyes in the face until the weight of unbridled rage and the vice-like grip of betrayal lessen up so he can breathe. Hanzo’s tone leaves no room for argument, though, and he’s afraid of being sniped in the head if something is going down and Hanzo feels the need to fire. So, he lets go of the smoking trench coat and steps to the right, flattening himself against another wall. Before he can even glance up at Hanzo’s perch, something flies by his head and imbeds itself in Gabe’s exposed neck.

Gabe’s cackling ceases almost immediately, replaced by a rumbling hiss that seems to originate in his chest. Blackness pours from his mouth. He reaches up and pulls the object from his neck, holding it up. 

It’s a dart. A very familiar looking dart.

“Amari,” Gabe hisses, then says more loudly, “I shouldn’t be surprised that you took his side.”

Jesse inhales, wheezing against the force of the nostalgia hitting him square in the chest. It reminds him so much of before, and his mind drudges up the normal reply, delivered in a sing-song, scratchily feminine voice. _You never gave me much choice._ He doesn't hear it, but he knows. He knows what's happening and--

“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me,” he whispers hoarsely, nearly sliding down the wall, his knees suddenly weak. He manages to stay upright, but just barely.

Gabe bares his teeth, and then his eyes flutter shut and he collapses to the ground in a heap of leather. 

Hanzo lands beside him almost immediately after. He steps in front of Jesse, close enough that his legs are bracketed by Jesse’s slightly bent knees, and puts a hand on Jesse’s shoulder. Jesse almost shrugs it off but then thinks better of it because the sensation is grounding. Hanzo must realize it, because his fingers curl until Jesse can feel them pressing into his tense muscles. 

“What in the hell,” he manages on an exhale, then stops when a shadow appears over Hanzo’s shoulder.

Ana Amari looks the same, and yet so very different. There’s an eyepatch covering her left eye that wasn’t there before, and a completely white braid is draped over her shoulder even though the last time Jesse saw her, there was still more black than grey. There are lines on her fact that weren’t there before, too, but her smile— that’s the same. She stops several feel away, her sniper rifle hugged against her chest in an aching familiar way. 

He’d thought about it jokingly, of course, but he never expected to see her again. It hurts more than Jack and Gabe coming back combined, somehow. Gabe was his savior, and Jack taught him how to be a better soldier, but Ana Amari taught him how to be the best shot and an even better man.

“Does no one stay dead anymore?” Jesse whispers, embarrassed that his voice is cracking but too overwhelmed to care. 

Hanzo’s grip tightens even more, and Jesse meets his dark gaze for a few intense seconds before the archer steps aside. “I will call for backup.”

Jesse nods, mute, and nearly grabs his hand to keep him there, but then Ana is in front of him, her single visible eye roaming over his face. 

“Busy day,” she comments. 

Jesse takes in a deep breath to calm the thudding of his heart. “Understatement of a lifetime, I reckon.”

Her thin lips curve upwards, causing creases to form around her mouth and at the corners of her eye. 

***

It’s a flurry of activity from there. Jesse’s too shellshocked to really pay attention to how the mission cleans up, but it must, because they all rendezvous at the transport, local authorities and the National Guard stepping in to finish the job. 

There are tearful hellos, and Jesse thinks that Reinhardt may have a damned heart attack, he’s so ecstatic, but Jack barks orders until everyone abandons the nostalgia. Everyone but Ana, who laughs at him, citing things like, “some things never change, eh?” and hugs him tightly. After a moment of stiffness, Jack relaxes and hugs her back, his fingers tightening in the folds of her jacket as he presses his still visored-face into the crook of her shoulder. 

Jesse wonders what will happen when Fareeha returns from a separate mission in Numbani. He expects literal fireworks. He hopes she isn’t wearing her suit. 

Ana assures them that her sleep dart will function for the better part of six hours, maybe less due to Gabriel’s affliction, so they haul ass back to Gibraltar, leaving a few of the team behind to help with clean-up efforts. On the transport, Ana and Reinhardt speak quietly to one and other. Angela and Jack sit next to Gabriel’s limp form, both staring down at him gravely. 

Jesse sits by himself, watching everyone wearily. 

“Jesse,” Genji murmurs, coming up to him about an hour into the flight. “Are you well?”

“That is yet to be determined,” Jesse drawls.

Genji nods, understanding without having to be told, and returns to his seat next to Hanzo. Jesse assumes the cyborg’s feeling it, too, the unsettling realization that nothing is as it seems. He wonders what they can all trust, after this. First Amelie, back in the day, then Jack, and Hanzo, and Gabe and Ana. 

He wonders what other ghosts are waiting to materialize and shake up his word.

***

The debrief is short and sweet, but that doesn’t mean it’s not as poignant as can be. Everyone’s on edge, both with Ana Amari back in their care and the slumbering terrorist who’s been sequestered in what amounts to an airtight container so he can’t escape once he wakes. Angela announces that she’s already collected samples of tissue, hair, and blood and intends to figure out what happened to Gabriel.

It’s good they put him in the airtight container, because Gabe’s roaring can be heard through most of the base when he wakes. 

***

Jesse stands in the shower until his skin is bright read from the heat and his fingers are pruned. He dresses but doesn’t leave his quarters. Instead, he cleans Peacekeeper and drinks several generous fingers of whiskey until his limbs feel heavy but languid, and then he sleeps. The slumber is stilted at best, littered with nightmarish memories he would rather forget. 

He heads to the kitchen just after one o’clock in the morning, mouth dry from the hangover that’s brewing and head throbbing from the lack of water he’s had in the last twenty-four hours. He finds Hanzo already there, head bowed and hands folded on the table top, a teapot and two cups sitting in front of him. He glances up when Jesse enters the room, tucks his hair behind his ear, and starts to serve the tea without another word. 

They sit in silence and sip their tea. Jesse is nodding off at the table by the time his cup is empty.

Hanzo forces him to stand and steers him towards the barracks. Jesse shakes his head groggily. “Dun wanna go back t’my room,” he mumbles, and doesn’t realize they’re not heading there until Hanzo opens the door to his own quarters and ushers Jesse inside.

“Well, darlin’, this ain’t what I expected.”

Hanzo shoves him back onto the bed. Jesse’s eyes close on the impact. He expects the weight of the other man to settle on top of him, wants it with a sudden burst of heat low in his groin, but instead of a warm body, it’s a blanket. He opens hie eyes and blinks the blurriness away. In the dim lamp light of the room, Hanzo is haloed. He stares down at Jesse with an unreadable expression, eyes dark. 

“Sleep, cowboy,” the archer murmurs, deft, calloused fingers ghosting through Jesse’s hair. 

“Could do that in my own room,” Jesse sighs, turning his head towards Hanzo’s hand so that his blunt nails trail over Jesse’s scalp.

“Could you really?”

Jesse inhales, exhales, closes his eyes again. “Prolly not. Guess you’d know best, eh, havin’ done this b’fore.” 

“I do not think I know best. I merely know how I felt upon Genji’s return.”

“And how’d ya feel?”

The mattress dips. Hanzo doesn’t lay next to him, merely sits with one knee drawn up to his chest. His hand stays in Jesse’s hair, fingers drawing languid shapes that send shivers down Jesse’s spine. 

“More alone than I had ever felt,” Hanzo answers honestly. 

Something heavy and warm swells in Jesse’s chest. He turns onto his side, the fingers of his metal hand draping over the prominent tendons in Hanzo’s foot. “That why you brought me here? ‘Cause I looked lonely?”

“You should not isolate yourself. A very loud, ridiculous man once told me that.”

Jesse hums. “Sounds like a handsome fella.”

Hanzo laughs quietly and doesn’t reply, just scoots back so his back rests against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Jesse follows him, pulls his knees up and kicks off his shoes at the same time. He hasn’t had the heat of someone else next to him in bed for some time, and while he doesn’t do more than rest his palm on Hanzo’s knee, it feels right. Hanzo’s fingers continue combing through his hair. 

Jesse sleeps. 

***

He stumbles from Hanzo’s room the next morning after waking up alone but well rested. There’s no one in the halls, thankfully, because he doesn’t know what he would say if there were. He doesn’t understand what that was about, and with everything else he doesn’t understand right now… he doesn’t think he has the patience or the energy to dissect the fact that he's definitely fallen for Shimada Hanzo.


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be three chapters total... except I have no control and I am trash. *points to the updated 3/4 chapter count.* 
> 
> Also, just a head's up that this chapter is why this fic is rated Mature. And you're all the best.

The only thing louder than Gabriel yelling for them to let him out of the godforsaken tank is Fareeha screaming obscenities at her mother once she returns to base. Jesse’s walking down the hall when he hears the yelling coming from the hanger, presumably where Ana went to greet her daughter for the first time in several years. 

“Selfish!” the young woman spits. “The lot of you! You’re all horrible and selfish!”

“ _Ḥabībtiḥ_ , you need to understand, I only wanted a better life for you, and my disappearing was the best chance at the time. Too much was going on—”

Jesse peeks his head around the corner of the doorway. Fareeha is still in her suit, cheeks a ruddy pink as she clutches her helmet in one gauntleted hand. Her eyes are dark with anger, but there’s a shine to them that hints at impending tears. “Well, I wanted a mother!”

Ana swallows, her own lower lip trembling, and throws her arms around her daughter despite the cumbersome suit. 

Fareeha stands stock-still, arms at her side in a soldier’s stance, but after a few moments, the helmet falls from her grip. It makes a loud clanging sound when it hits the floor. Jesse winces, but when he opens his eyes, Fareeha’s arms are wrapped around her mother. 

Jesse quietly retreats, mostly because he doesn’t want to intrude on what is most definitely a private, intimate moment, but also because he isn’t sure how much more of all of this his poor heart can take. 

***

Things settle. Eventually. 

It takes a lot of time and even more patience. It’s awkward for the new recruits, having to balance their blossoming friendships and camaraderie on top of the weight of old friendships and old soldiers who have bled for each other and then some. And then there’s the tension. It’s thick and uncomfortable at times, especially when Jack is around. So, Jesse can’t blame the newbies for being hesitant. He remembers being that kid, once upon a time: thrown into group of strong-willed people with intertwined histories he didn’t quite understand. Plus, the entire base is on edge with Gabriel there, and it doesn’t help that he’s like a rabid dog, snapping and snarling at anyone and everyone who comes anywhere near his fishbowl of a holding cell. 

Though, some people are more affected than others. 

Jesse waits just over a week before he slips into Angela’s office and closes the door behind him. She looks up from her tablet, momentarily startled. 

“Jesse, are you unwell?” 

“No, ma’am,” he says, sitting in the chair across from her desk. “Just wanted to talk one on one, is all.”

Angela sets the tablet aside and leans back in her chair, folding her hands on her lap. She looks resigned and tired, dark circles a contrast to her pale skin, but still smiles gently at him. “I was wondering when you would come to talk.”

Jesse takes off his hat and sets it on the desk between them. “I wanted to give ya space. I know none o’this has been easy for any of us.”

“But particularly me,” she says with a rueful chuckle. “That is what you actually mean, yes?”

Jesse purses his lips but doesn’t reply.

“Did you read the report I submitted?”

“No, ma’am, I did not.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Why?”

Jesse shrugs. “You know me. Not really the readin’ type.”

Angela huffs out a laugh. “You wanted to hear me say it, you mean. No need to talk in riddles, Jesse.” 

“Maybe I did. Less clinical n’all that. You wanna give me the short version?”

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes measured breaths, in and out. It reminds him of her on the field, when she’s Mercy, just before she begins to work. It always amazes him, how well she can compartmentalize the anxiety she must feel, having people’s lives dangling at the tips of her fingers. However, when she opens her eyes, it’s like the breathing did none of the calming it usually does. There’s pain there. Pain and guilt and sadness that rends Jesse's heart. 

“I was part of the medical response team when the Swiss base exploded. It was a disaster. The videos and photographs that graced the news didn’t do it justice. You could smell burning rubber and flesh in the air. We spent several hours just digging people out, both alive and dead. We did not find Jack, but I did find Gabriel.”

“Alive or dead?” Jesse asks roughly.

She swallows and licks her lips. “His life hung by a thread. I could barely feel a pulse. He’d lost so much blood from a wound in his thigh, and a piece of metal had speared him through the chest. It missed his heart, but at least one lung was collapsed, and who knows what kind of spinal damage had been done. He had suffered second and third degree burns across his entire body, but his is face and hands were the worst.

“I’m truly not sure what happened. Winston and I have been trying to recreate it with minimal luck. At the time, I had been working on improving the healing capability of the Caduceus as well as adding the capability to boost body and brain function, almost like a jolt of adrenaline without the devastating side effects and eventual crash. When I used the Caduceus on Gabriel, I used both of the staff’s abilities, hoping it would jolt his heart and heal his wounds simultaneously. Unfortunately, I think he had died just before I began, and nothing happened.”

Jesse sucks in a breath, gripping the arms of the chair. “Jesus Christ, Angie.”

Angela looks close to tears, but after a few moments, she continues, voice steady. “I thought nothing happened, at any rate. I had to leave his body to call for evac, but it took some time, and I was needed elsewhere for those who required healing.”

“And when you went back for him the body was gone,” Jesse murmurs.

“Yes. We could not find his remains anywhere in the rubble. Of course now we know that he was taken by Talon, but at the time, we were at a complete loss.”

“And you think you did this to him? Not Talon?”

“I don’t know,” Angela answers honestly. “It could be that the Caduceus worked, but only succeeded in resurrecting him partially, hence the way his cells degenerate and regenerate in rapid succession. I do not know how to explain the way he can dismantle his physical make up. It could be that a combination of the Caduceus’ capability and Talon experimentation was the culprit. It could be that the Caduceus is the only culprit, but because I used it on him post-mortem, it brought him back, but stopped too soon so that he was stuck in between life and death. He does not remember much from the beginning of his imprisonment. He thinks Talon kept him comatose for at least the first two months after the explosion, and that means so much could have happened during that time.” 

Jesse regrets eating lunch before coming here. The contents of his stomach move like a choppy ocean, sloshing around until he feels sick. “Can you fix it?” he finally asks. “Can you fix him?”

“I am working on it. I don’t know if I can fix how his body degenerates and regenerates, but I may be able to stabilize the cellular structure so that he doesn’t break apart. I won’t know until I can get a better idea of what’s actually happening. He is finally allowing me to examine him and take more samples.” She looks down at her hands. “He has admitted that it is painful, when his body resumes form, and that he must actively control it so that he does not dismantle.”

“He admitted that?” Jesse asks, surprised. 

The corner of Angela’s lip curls up. “He may have been heavily drugged with opioids.” 

Jesse can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up. “Jesus, he must be madder’n a bull at a rodeo.” 

“Have you spoken to him yet?” 

Jesse bites at the inside of his lip. 

Her smile warms. “You should. He’s volatile, but I think he secretly yearns for our companionship. I would not be surprised if he orchestrated the events of the last few months to bring himself back to us, even if he wasn't completely aware of it.”

“I’m like a magnet for volatile’n needy,” Jesse mutters, shaking his head, but when he leaves Angela’s office, he heads to see Gabriel.

The glass container he’s being held in is pressurized and air sealed with multiple safety guards for exit and entrance as well as oxygen dispertion to limit the chance that Gabriel will turn into mist and escape. Jesse isn’t sure what Winston originally made the tank for, and he isn’t sure he wants to know. 

Gabriel lays on the provided cot with his hands folded beneath his head. From the corner of his eye, he watches the cowboy as he enters the room and sits in the chair next to the glass prison, but Gabriel doesn’t move. Jesse lounges in the chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, with his hat tipped low over his face. They stay that way for a while. 

Gabriel breaks the silence. 

“You here to let me out?” 

Jesse snorts good-naturedly. “Hell no.”

“Then why _are_ you here?”

“For your cheerful company, obviously,” Jesse drawls and tilts his head so he can glance at Gabe. “Why’re you here?” 

“Great question, since I don’t want to be here.”

“Prolly shouldn’t have become a ghost terrorist, then.”

Gabriel grits his teeth. “Did you just come here to—”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Jesse demands, because he can't hold it in anymore. “I left Blackwatch ‘cause I thought we were gettin’ outta hand. I thought _you_ were gettin’ outta hand, and you knew it. You knew I didn’t want none of it after that village fire and those kids burning alive in the school ‘cause we misjudged the goddamned situation.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Gabriel move into a sitting position with both feet planted firmly on the floor and his elbows on his knees. Jesse can feel the stare burning a hole into the side of his head. He doesn’t return it. 

“You coulda trusted me. You coulda told me what was happenin’. I coulda helped you, Gabe.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Gabriel says, his voice matter-of-fact.

“And why the fuck not?” Jesse barks, tearing his hat off so he can finally look the other man in the eye. He feels something rising up in him, something dark and furious, and he isn’t sure he’s gonna be able to control it much longer. “You were always a stubborn ass, but I never thought you’da let it go that far.”

Gabriel just watches him gnash his teeth, face set like stone. Black smoke curls off of him in thin wisps, but that’s the only movement he makes aside from a blink here and there. 

“A lotta good people died in that explosion, Gabe. It tore everything apart. It tore all of us apart. Even if you didn't plant the damned bombs, it's on your hands 'cause you couldn't ask for some fuckin' help.”

Gabriel sighs and he hunches forward. “I was trying to save you all, _idiota_. Talon was wrapped up in everything. They had spies throughout the U.N. They had spies in Blackwatch and Overwatch. Jack was so goddamned hung up on pretending I didn’t exist that I worried he might be involved.”

Jesse actually laughs. “You gotta be kiddin’ me. Jack fuckin’ Morrison, involved with Talon? What the hell were you smokin’ to think that might be the case?”

“Benign neglect is a pretty damned good way to keep your hands clean even if you’re dealing under the table,” Gabriel replies with a shrug. “I was angry, and he didn't help the situation. All of my memos went unanswered, wiped from the system. I didn’t know who I could trust, so I dug on my own.” 

“Dug your own goddamn grave.” Jesse wipes his palms on the tops of his thighs to stop himself from punching the glass.

“I did what I had to do, kid. Maybe it wasn’t the right choice, but it was all I had. I pulled you out of a shit life where you were forced to be a cold-blooded killer. Why the hell do you think I would let you be reeled back in? And you would have been, no doubt about it.” 

Jesse doesn’t know how to reply to that. It makes the back of his eyes sting because he’s a sentimental fool, but he blinks the sensation away, focusing on the way that Gabe won’t look at him now. He thinks the other man is probably a sentimental fool, as well. He thinks of Ana and Fareeha clinging to each other in the hanger, of Angela crying in her office, of Reinhardt showing the new recruits old photos, of Genji and Hanzo meditating together, laughing together, and arguing good-naturedly.

He thinks of the night he spent in Shimada Hanzo’s bed, ushered by gentle hands. He thinks of Hanzo stroking fingers through his hair, of the things they’re both not saying because they’re both afraid the other’s going to bolt.

They’re all sentimental fools. Every last one of ‘em. 

Jesse exhales the breath he’d been holding. “So what happens now, Gabe?”

Gabriel spreads his arms out, as if he’s showcasing something grand. “Doesn’t look like I have much of a choice, so you tell me.”

“Bullshit. You know they won’t keep you in here forever.”

“Can you be so sure?” Gabriel asks haughtily, but Jesse hears the fear behind the words. 

He stands and sets his hat on his chair before placing his flesh hand on the glass. “Yeah, I can. So what’s gonna happen when it’s time for you t’decide? You with us?” 

Gabriel stares at him, dumbfounded. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Jesse winks. “Showin’ you solidarity, _jefe_. You not gonna participate?” 

Gabe barks out a laugh. “I’m definitely not resting my hand against yours. What is this, a romantic comedy? Please.” 

“You gotta do it, Gabe, or I won’t know you’re serious.”

“Kid, stop. I’m not doing—”

“You gotta!”

"Absolutely not."

"Gabe, c'mon!"

They’re both standing at the glass, hands pressed to it, hunched over and smirking, when Jack Morrison walks through the door. 

Jesse pulls his hand away from the glass like he’s been burned. Gabe is slower to lower his, movements calm and collected even as he retreats into himself, all of the mirth that finally broke through his grim reaper facade disappearing. Jesse glances between the two of them uncomfortably. 

“McCree, if I can have a moment with him,” Jack says gruffly.

“You got it.” He plops his hat back on his head and then grips the brim to tip it down in Gabe’s direction before he heads for the door.

He’s just barely still in earshot when he hears Jack say, words wrought with anguish and anger and desperation, “I missed you.”

Yeah, they’re all definitely sentimental fools.

***

So things settle. Mostly.

Amidst the stress and uncertainty of ghosts coming back from the dead, the strange thing brewing between him and Shimada Hanzo that Jesse doesn’t quite understand continues until it takes over Jesse’s brain like a virus. They never speak much during the day, but it never fails that they end up together several nights a week just like they did before the mission in King’s Row. Except now, Jesse finds himself more often than not trailing Hanzo back to his rooms, falling asleep in his bed with the archer beside him, and waking up alone. They don’t do anything to denote romanticism on either of their parts— they don’t kiss and they barely touch—but it’s intimate and it’s rending Jesse from the inside out. 

The complete one-eighty he’s done in what is really a relatively short amount of time has given him whiplash, and while he wants it so badly it hurts, he doesn’t know if he can handle tackling it in the open. Not yet. He’s too afraid of the fragile nature of a lot of his current relationships, and he doesn’t want to risk losing the archer to feelings that probably aren’t reciprocated.

He was stupid to think no one else noticed, though.

“What is going on with you and Hanzo?” Hana asks him one afternoon while they play some fighting game. 

Jesse hisses out a curse when he loses. Again. “Nothin’,” he truth-lies, because it’s not nothing, but it’s not something yet, either. “Why? He say somethin’?”

Hana turns to look at him with a smirk. “No reason. Wanna go again?” 

Jesse purses his lips and then shrugs. “Sure. Why t’hell not.” 

The question haunts him, though. 

***

After another four weeks of all-around purgatory and a lack of forward motion in any of his quandaries, Winston calls for a meeting. 

Jesse knows what it’s about. He’s been spending time with Gabriel when he can, annoying the hell out of him with poor harmonica playing and even poorer singing, and sometimes, when Gabe is amicable, they talk. He knows Angela and Winston are trying to stabilize Gabe’s body, and Jesse notices less and less black mist shimmering off of him, but he says nothing, not wanting to touch on things that may still be too raw to speak of. Gabriel snaps and growls and yet Jesse knows he appreciates the company. He isn’t sure what’s going on with Jack, and he doesn’t ask. It’s never been a safe subject, their ridiculously tense love-hate relationship, and to be honest, Jesse has zero interest in talking about anyone’s love life, considering his own. 

“Thank you all for coming,” Angela says, addressing the original members of Overwatch and Blackwatch. “I have some good news in regards to Gabriel, and it is time we talk about our next steps considering the many concerns we must weigh.”

Jesse glances around the table. Everyone’s doing the same, trying to get a read on the rest of their teammates. For once, he wishes he had a visor like Genji, who has smartly kept his on for this meeting. The ultimate poker face.

“After extensive trial and error, we have finally managed to stabilize Gabriel’s body.”

“Completely or only partially?” Genji asks, leaning forward, elbow plating clicking against the tabletop. 

“Almost completely.” 

There are gasps and whispers. Jack sits like a statue, his face giving away nothing. Jesse feels like his entire body has gone entirely numb, so he says nothing. 

“How?” Lena finally asks, breaking the strange hum of disbelief. “What was causing the breakdown?”

Angela takes a deep breath, rolling her shoulders back, and Jesse has a feeling he knows how this story is going to go.

“You are all familiar with the evolution of my Caduceus,” she starts, “and that I have mastered its ability to bring someone back from the brink of death. I had not mastered it then and was only just starting trials, but I used it anyway, hoping to save him. We think my use of it on Gabriel so soon, probably mere seconds, after he died may have jolted him back, though not as anticipated. His body was caught in flux, strung between life and death, and that is why Talon’s brainwashing capabilities did not work on him, though he obviously convinced them otherwise.

“It seems to simple now,” Angela murmurs with a little laugh. “As I mentioned, it has not reversed all of the damage. We attempted to use it on him a second time, but it did nothing except give him a headache. His physical features are not changed and will not change.”

Jesse runs a hand over his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn.”

“What now, then?” Ana asks quietly, expression severe. 

Genji tilts his head. “Overwatch has always been about second chances.”

Reinhardt nods approvingly. “I agree.” 

Ana frowns, bringing out the lines around her mouth. “But can we trust him? The things he has done in the name of justice, they cannot be forgiven.”

Jack grits his teeth but says nothing.

“We have undercover agents do awful things in the name of the mission all the time,” Genji insists, “and we have forgiven other transgressions. What should matter, if he is useful to us and wishes to be here, is what allegiance he has now that his tie to Talon is severed.”

Ana’s hands come down on the table, making everyone jolt. “But he wasn’t undercover! He wasn’t answering to anyone. It was the same problem with Blackwatch. He was always headstrong, and it will not change.”

Lena looks increasingly uncomfortable, as does Torbjorn, who has remained silent through the entire discussion. Ana continues to argue with Genji, whose vents expel steam with an agitated hiss. 

“He betrayed what we stood for,” Ana stresses. 

“He worked with what he had,” Jesse finally snaps, unable to stay quiet. 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t believe—”

“He’s right.”

They all turn to look at Jack. He looks older and more tired than Jesse’s ever seen him, not to mention like he’d rather be anywhere but here, corroborating the story of a terrorist.

“I checked out Reyes’ story about the corruption in Blackwatch, and McCree’s right. He worked with what he had, before and after. We had old data stored at the Li Jang base that backs it up.”

“So that’s why you requested transport there,” Lena mutters. 

Jack sighs and runs a hand through his short, silver hair. “A lot of it, especially concerning Blackwatch, was encrypted, and there was a backup of deleted files. Winston was able to work around it with Athena’s help. Most of the messages he sent never reached me, and he did request in-person meetings, but I let our personal strife get in the way of things and ignored his requests because they never came of anything except arguments. Any other time we were in the same room, someone was always there, so he never said anything. I’m assuming it’s because he didn’t know who he could trust.” 

“Jack,” Ana starts, but he holds up a hand. 

“I’ve had weeks to sort through it all, Ana, and I’ve pieced it together objectively. Winston can corroborate. He’s got less of a bone in this fight.” Jack pauses. “Less of a reason to want it to be true.”

“But what he did with Talon—” 

“What in the hell was he supposed to do?” Jesse asks, incredulous. “The man was kidnapped by a fuckin’ terrorist organization.”

“He could have left once he gained their trust. He could have come to us.”

“Come to _us_?" Jesse snarls, baring his teeth. “You were in the fuckin' wind. Don’t think we’ve all forgotten that you abandoned us, too, Amari. Who did he have to go to? Jack was still paradin' around as Soldier:76. Genji was in Nepal. The other's, myself included, were scattered up until this year. Who'd he have gone to?”

There’s murder in her single eye, and he hates it because Ana Amari was the closest thing he had to a mother in his life, but Jesse refuses to back down. He feels that this is the true and right thing all the way down to his bones. He’s gone through this internalized fight before, the fear of trusting and being betrayed by someone whose less than honorable past has tainted his opinion of them. He’s gone through it, and he damn well will fight to make sure Amari doesn’t go down the path that stalled him from falling like an idiot for a man who needed someone to believe he was worth redeeming.

He ignores the personal revelation again even though his heart hiccups in his chest. _Later_. He will deal with that particular demon later. 

“None of this excuses the destruction and devastation he caused,” Ana says, standing her ground, too. 

“What does Reyes want?” Torbjorn asks, breaking his silence. His facial expression gives away nothing of his own inclinations. “Does he want t’be part o’this again? Does he regret what he had t’do even if he had t’do it and felt like he had no other choice?”

Angela stands up without speaking and leaves. Jesse sinks into his chair, knowing what’s coming. And he’s right. She marches into the room minutes later with Gabriel Reyes next to her. 

He’s dressed in dark navy hospital scrubs, of all the things he could be wearing. The thin material stretches taut over his muscular frame, and the short sleeves and v-neck leave enough skin revealed for everyone to understand what Angela meant when she said that particular trait wouldn’t change. He’s still pale and mottled, though Jesse is sure there’s a bit more color to him than before, and his dark eyes still glint red in the center. He glances around the table, his gaze lingering and maybe even softening when it passes Jack, but he doesn’t speak.

“Ask him yourself,” Angela says clinically, then places her hand on Gabriel’s arm. He flinches but catches himself almost immediately. Angela squeezes his forearm. “Gabriel, they have questions.”

“All right,” he says, his voice still just on the wrong side of gruff, like that particular affectation didn’t get fixed, either. “Ask away.”

Jesse expects Ana to launch into things, but Torb beats her to it. 

“Do you regret it?” he asks bluntly. 

“No.”

Ana scoffs, waving a hand in dismissal. “Do you see?”

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t do what I did,” Gabriel growls, undeterred. “I wouldn’t be in this room. Who knows if you’d have come back, Amari. I’m sure the only reason you did is because you heard from one of your little birdies that Reaper’d been revealed to be ex-Overwatch.” 

Ana’s nostrils flare.

Gabe grins meanly. “They may not know who you’ve been the last few years, but I do.” Before anyone can ask, and everyone looks like they want to because Ana has been less than forthcoming with details, he says, “And let’s not forget that Talon wouldn’t be crippled, either, without where I’ve been. So, I’m sorry for some of the things I’ve done, but I can’t regret it.” 

The room goes eerily silent.

“When can you start?” Genji asks, obviously trying to break the tension. “Do you need to put in two weeks notice with Talon first, or has your imprisonment here sufficed as a no-call, no-show type of deal?”

More silence, and then Reinhardt bellows out a laugh, hand smacking Genji’s back good-naturedly. “Such a comedian!”

“Still a little shit, I see, Shimada,” Gabriel says with a roll of his eyes. 

“Wait til you meet the other one,” Genji replies and flashes Gabe the peace sign.

Gabe huffs. “So that’s who that was. Gotta say, I’m surprised to see him here.”

The cyborg shrugs. “As I said, Overwatch is about second chances. This new Overwatch _is_ in itself a second chance. It failed the first time, but we are back, and we have learned from our mistakes.”

Jesse whistles. “You’re like a goddamned poet, Genji.” 

“We’ve gotten off topic,” Winston interrupts and then looks at Gabriel. “Is this somewhere you want to be? Do you want this chance, if it’s offered?”

Gabe’s eyes land on Jack. Jack stares back, his face carefully blank aside from the ever so slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. The look they share is short but poignant enough that Jesse looks down at his hands. 

“Yes,” Gabriel says, simply. 

“Then we all have a lot to think about and discuss. In the mean time…” The scientist presents a metal band, and with a sigh, Gabriel raises his arm and allows Winston to clip it around his wrist. A line of backlit, pale blue dots flicker on as the metal fuzes together. 

“What is it?” Jesse asks. 

“A monitoring device. This will keep Athena updated on his location at any given time, and if for some reason there is a concern for the safety of the other agents on base, it will render our guest immobile, courtesy of Miss Mei-Ling.”

“May I provoke him just to see it in action?” Genji asks, making an up until then silent Lena snort. 

Gabriel just shakes his head and rolls his eyes. 

“Meeting adjourned, I guess. We’ll meet again at oh-eight hundred tomorrow for final deliberations. Please be on time.” 

Unsurprisingly, Gabriel is swept up by the other bodies in the room, all except Genji, Jesse, and Ana. She stays where she is, her hands folded primly on the table. Her lips are pursed as she watches the other members greet Gabriel.

Genji stands only to then slide into the seat next to Ana. Jesse is close enough to hear him even though he talks quietly. 

“I understand how you are feeling,” he muses quietly, taking his visor off with a click. 

Ana studies his scarred face, her own contorted with anger. “How could you possibly understand?” 

“I have a few people close to me who have struggled with regret.” 

Ana bristles. “I have nothing to regret.”

Genji tilts his head in the annoyingly patient way that makes Jesse grit his teeth. 

Ana’s expression crumbles and she squeezes her eye shut. Jesse is up and out of his seat in a heartbeat. He moves behind the older woman’s chair, bends at the waist, and wraps his arms around her. She smells just as he remembers: smokey, like lapsong tea, and spicy, like coriander. Ana’s hands come up to grasp at his arm, and she rests her forehead against his wrist. 

“Would it all be be like this, I wonder, had I stayed,” she chokes out. 

Jesse tightens his hold. “Now don’t go doin’ that to yourself,” he soothes. “You’re here now, ain’tcha? Me, too. We all did wrong, some way or another, but we’re here, and we got a chance t’do better, by ourselves and by him and all the others we let down.”

He more feels than sees her nod against him. 

Genji stands and rests his hand gently on Jesse’s shoulder before he quietly leaves the room, and Jesse stays there, huddled over the only woman he could ever consider a calling mother, until she stops crying.

***

He’s exhausted, so much so that his body aches, but he can’t fall asleep for the life of him. The clock says it’s nearly three in the morning, and Jesse’s been laying here, staring at the shadows moving on the ceiling, since just after eleven. He’s considered getting up and trudging to the kitchen multiple times, but he’s stopped himself. He feels emotionally raw, and he isn’t sure he can handle Hanzo’s confusingly gentle ministrations. He doesn’t think he could tumble into Hanzo’s bed and not touch, because goddamnit, he wants someone to wrap their arms around him. He wants what Ana gave Fareeha, and what he gave Ana. He wants the embrace he saw Jack and Gabe tied up in when they thought no one was there. Hell, he’d take Angela’s gentle but grounding touch on the arm right now. He _needs_ but he doesn’t want _to ask_ , and it’s put him in a right quandary if there ever was one. 

When the hour nears four, he finally gets up, steps into his boots so that his flannel pants ruck up around his calves, and wraps his serape around himself. The weather’s warmed up some, finally settling back to the Gibraltar norm, but it’s late enough that the roof will more than likely be unoccupied. And if Genji’s up there— he can handle that. Genji is the king of calming, barely-there touches. It’s not enough, in the grand scheme of things, but it could be enough right now to stop him from all but climbing out of his own skin. 

There’s still a chill in the air, but it smells like sun and salt nonetheless. Jesse steps fully outside and closes the door behind him, then leans against it, eyes closed. 

“Had I been an enemy, you would already be dead.”

Jesse doesn’t open his eyes, but he does curse under his breath. His heart immediately starts to thud. Somehow, he manages to sound cool and collected. “Thankfully good ol’ Athena keeps them bad guys at bay ‘round here.”

The other man’s voice is closer and amused. “Unless she was not functional.”

“Ain’t never gonna happen.”

“Never say never. That is an irresponsible battle tactic.”

He turns his head to the right and opens his eyes. Hanzo stands next to him, staring up at the stars and the thin sliver of moon still present in the sky. His dark hair drifts across his shoulders with the breeze, and there’s a quirk to his lips that makes Jesse ache. 

“I did not see you at dinner, and I wanted to know if you were well, all things considered,” Hanzo says gently. “I assumed you would not sleep tonight.”

“How’d y’know I’d come out here?”

“The weather has warmed, obviously.”

That last word clings to Jesse like a noose. _Obviously_. Like Hanzo knows him, and why would Jesse be idiot enough to think otherwise? Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like he can draw a full breath. It’s so stupid, this choking feeling, and it just piles anger and a small slice of self-loathing on top of the anxiety building in his chest.

“McCree, are you unwell?” 

Jesse focuses and finds Hanzo turned towards him, eyebrows knit together and thin lips pulled down into a frown. He looks so concerned, and his face is seven, maybe eight inches away from Jesse’s, and Jesse can smell the eucalyptus oil Hanzo sometimes dabs on his temples for tension headaches.

“I—” he starts and then stops, swallowing the words. When he tries again, his voice works, but it’s stilted at best. “There’s just a lot goin’ on.”

The frown flattens out in understanding. “I understand. Perhaps you should try to sleep, after all. Shall I make some tea?”

The rest of what usually happens after tea is left unsaid. _Shall I make some tea and then accompany you back to my bed?_ Jesse shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’m just gonna head back t’my room, I reckon.”

Hanzo hums noncommittally. “I see.”

They stand there for a few moments, the silence hanging between them like a time bomb. Jesse doesn’t know what to do, so he just waits, staring back at Hanzo as the other man tries to figure out what’s going on. 

The archer eventually nods. “I hope you get some sleep.”

“I— yeah. Sorry. S’just a lot, right now.”

“I understand,” the other man says quietly. 

Jesse hightails it back to his quarters, cursing himself the entire time. When he gets there, he kicks his boots to far corners of the room, tears off his serape, and nearly slams his metal fist into the wall, but settles for pacing the room instead. He’s never felt this goddamned conflicted, like he shouldn’t want what he wants. Like he doesn’t deserve it. It’s infuriating and hypocritical, so he smokes his way through a quarter back of cigarillos in an attempt to placate his nerves before he finally makes up his mind and leaves his room again, this time in his bare feet.

He stops outside of Hanzo’s door. He isn’t sure what he expects or even what he plans to do. He just knows that he doesn’t want to spend the night alone, even if he can’t touch, and yet, even as he knocks, part of him—the cowardly part—hopes Hanzo is still on the roof.

But Jesse’s rolling snake eyes, ‘cause of course he’s not. 

The door whooshes opens, and Hanzo blinks up at him. He’s shirtless with his sleep pants low on his hips, and his hair is parted messily, as if he’s been tossing and turning, and Jesse just can’t help himself. He reaches out, fingertips brushing the side of Hanzo’s neck before they slide up into his infuriatingly soft hair, until he’s cupping the back of the other man’s head and can pull him forward as he dips down. 

Their lips touch. A tremor shakes through Jesse’s body as the floodgates threaten to open. Hanzo is motionless, one hand still on the panel that controls the door, the other hanging limply at his side. The want coursing through Jesse and setting his nerve endings on fire is immediately doused by the other man’s inaction.

_This was a mistake_ , he thinks, and he’s pretty sure the tightness in his chest is worst thing he’s felt in a long, long time. 

“Goddamnit,” he breathes against Hanzo’s lips before he pulls back. 

They stare at each other, Hanzo’s face impassive. He hardly blinks. Jesse feels alternately hot and cold, like he might pass out or set fire to the base. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages, “I wasn’t thinkin’—”

“Why?” Hanzo demands, his words heated. “Why would you do this?”

“Why?” Jesse scrubs a hand over his face and tries to stifle the manic laugh bubbling up. “‘Cause you’re a force t’be reckoned with, and I wanna reckon with you, obviously.”

Hanzo’s eyes narrow. “You’re only behaving this way because you are emotionally compromised.” 

“You’re damn fuckin’ right that’s why I’m doin’ this!” Jesse snaps, then lowers his voice even though he can’t keep the fervor out of it. “I’d never fuckin’ dream of riskin’ it otherwise.”

“Risking it,” Hanzo repeats.

“Yeah, Hanzo. Riskin’ it. Riskin’ chasin’ you away. Riskin’ ruinin’ a good thing, ‘cause hell, you can’t tell me y’don’t know by now.”

Hanzo nostrils flare as he breathes in, and his lips part when he breathes out. “Know what?” 

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, then runs a hand through his hair only to fist a handful of it in frustration. He’s here, on some self-made, self-destructive precipice, and his toes are hanging over the edge and— 

“That I’m sweet on you,” he says, jumping, and continues babbling, accent thickening as he digs his grave that much deeper. “I dunno when it happened, and y’prolly don’t feel the same, considerin’ I treated you like shit at first, and why in tarnation would you even believe me, but holy hell, how things’ve been between us, and all the bullshit goin’ down right now, n’I just can’t stop—I need—”

Jesse’s eyes fly open as Hanzo’s hand closes around his wrist. The shorter man all but drags him into his room, slams the panel with his free hand, and then drags Jesse down by his shirt before the doors even close behind them.

He can’t stop the whine, low and needy, that climbs up his throat when Hanzo kisses him. He immediately wraps his arms around the other man, reveling in the feel of Hanzo’s warm skin beneath his palms. Hanzo’s hands flatten against his chest and then slide upwards until his fingers thread through Jesse’s hair. 

“Y’sure?” Jesse manages to whisper. He reaches down and grabs Hanzo’s ass with his metal hand and grinds their hips together, making his intentions known. Hanzo hisses out a breath and arches against him. “‘M not gonna be able to stop if this starts f’real, so tell me now. Please.” 

Hanzo drags him down by his hair this time, plastering them together from chest to knee as he bites at Jesse’s lips and demands entrance with his tongue. 

It turns messy and greedy as they tear off each other’s clothes. Hanzo is muscled and lean and Jesse mouths at the border of his tattoo where it curves over Hanzo’s chest and shoulder. Hanzo makes breathy noises, nails dragging in a deliciously slow pace up Jesse’s sides and down his shoulder blades. 

When Jesse drops to his knees, Hanzo watches him with heavy lidded eyes, mouth slightly agape, as the cowboy nips at the inside of his thighs before he takes him into his mouth. Hanzo’s hands start in his hair and then slide to cup his cheeks, fingertips occasionally brushing against Jesse’s throat as he hums and swallows and slides along Hanzo’s length until his knees nearly buckle. 

They stumble towards the bed, only stopping when Hanzo digs in the drawer of his bedside table one-handed, head tilted back to expose his throat as Jesse laves his tongue over the archer’s erratic pulse point. He finally retrieves a bottle of lube and a condom and Jesse groans. 

“Darlin’,” he murmurs against Hanzo’s lips. “Oh, darlin’.”

Hanzo’s answering growl is enough to make him shiver. 

Jesse lays back on the bed. He doesn’t ask, because he couldn’t care any less what position he ends up in as long as Hanzo is the one putting him in it. The archer crawls between his legs, his eyes dark and predatory, and dips down to graze his teeth along Jesse’s clavicle while one hand wraps around his length. Jesse hisses out a breath and arches up.

“McCree,” Hanzo rasps, speaking for the first time since he dragged the other man into his room. There’s a flush high on his cheeks and he strokes Jesse in a maddeningly slow way, his breathing shallow. He looks like he might loose control any second.

“Jesse,” the cowboy interjects, licking his lips. “Call me Jesse.” 

Hanzo smiles, dimples appearing, and leans down, lips ghosting over Jesse’s. “Jesse,” he murmurs, “I want to be—” 

“Anythin’, yes, please _God_.” 

Hanzo’s hips stutter against him, and he reaches for the bottle of lube.

Jesse arrived at Gibraltar about two months before Hanzo, and it’s been nearly nine months since the elder Shimada walked in behind Genji, his chin held high. Nearly a year, he muses to himself as Hanzo presses a slick finger into him. Nearly a year without anyone warming his bed, and somehow that unplanned jaunt of celibacy has come to an end with Shimada Hanzo looming over him, hair falling around them like silk curtain. 

Hanzo adds a second finger, and after a moment, he curls both of them in a way that has Jesse arching off of the bed, gasping so hard he sees stars.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Jesse moans. “Han, please—” 

Hanzo slips in a third finger and Jesse all but claws at his back. The stretch and burn are nothing compared to the heat pooling in Jesse’s stomach, _the need_ unraveling him thread by thread.

“Patience,” the archer murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle Jesse’s neck and press open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. His other hand strokes soothing lines down Jesse’s chest and abdomen. 

Jesse growls, trying to buck against the pressure. “How’s a man supposed t’be patient with you teasin’ him?” 

“You wish me to stop?”

Jesse’s eyes widen. “Fuck, no. Don’t—I didn’t mean—”

Suddenly Jesse is empty, and he chokes on his words at the hollow feeling. He goes to sit up, but Hanzo presses a hand to his chest and forces him back down onto the bed, and then he’s pushing into Jesse, the slide maddeningly slow. His lips are parted and his pupils are blown as he stares down at the man splayed out beneath him. Jesse grips Hanzo’s thighs so hard he thinks the archer might bruise, but it’s the only thing grounding him. 

When Hanzo bottoms out, he brings a hand to Jesse’s cheek, his thumb stroking the other man’s bottom lip. “Lovely,” he hums, rocking experimentally. 

“Oh, god,” Jesse whispers, hoarse. “Oh, holy hell.” 

He expects the archer to set a punishing pace, but Hanzo moves slowly and languidly, like he’s got no where he’d rather be. His hands are everywhere, and his lips drift over Jesse’s face, neck, and chest, sucking bruises here and there before he moves on. Jesse clings to him, the pressure and heat building and building and building until he he can hardly catch his breath. He throws his head back, eyes screwed shut as his hips rise to meet Hanzo’s, words pouring out of his mouth unbidden.

“Darlin’, sugar, Jesus H. Christ, you’re so good t’me, feel amazin’, please please _please_ —” 

Hanzo’s teeth graze Jesse’s Adam’s apple, and then he takes Jesse in hand.

If his nerve endings weren’t on fire, they damn well are once Hanzo touches his cock. Jesse’s ankles hook around the other man’s calves and he bucks up, hissing out a choked breath. Hanzo stops moving immediately and allows Jesse to tug his hand away, squeezes back when Jesse shakily loops their fingers together. Jesse opens his eyes and his heart lurches. Hanzo looks down at him, eyebrows drawn low in concern. Strands of dark hair cling to the sweat glistening on his temples, and fucking hell, he’s so gorgeous. 

Between panted breathes, Jesse manages, “I don’t—I want—”

Hanzo must understand him, and it’s the right thing to say, apparently, because his breath hitches, and then he grabs Jesse’s other hand, pinning both to bed next to Jesse’s head. 

“Anything,” he murmurs, and then fucks Jesse into the mattress until Jesse’s bowing under him again, coming so hard his vision whites out. 

***

Hanzo cleans them both off afterwards with a cool cloth. His ministrations are gentle even if his expression is impassive, giving nothing away. Jesse tries not to let it bother him because he’s sure the archer is just as confused about where to go from here. So, Jesse shoves the anxiety down and lays boneless on the bed, metal hand behind his head and the other resting on his chest. Beneath it, his heart still beats like a rabbit’s, fast and hard, and it only worsens when Hanzo approaches the bed again. 

“You’re goddamned beautiful, you know that?” he murmurs before he can stop himself, reaching out to touch a scar on Hanzo’s hip. 

Hanzo hums his reply, a slight smile curling his lips, and slowly climbs into the bed next to Jesse. He lays on his side, pillowing his head on Jesse’s bicep so that he can face him, and rests his hand on the vacated spot above the cowboy’s heart. Jesse would be embarrassed about the archer feeling how goddamned fast it was beating, except that Hanzo’s chest is pressed snuggly against his rib cage, and Jesse can feel the other man’s heart beating just as hard.


	4. Epilogue

Jesse blinks the sleep out of his eyes, squinting against the bright morning sun filtering in through the small window. The first thing he realizes is that he is very much naked under the thin sheet pulled over his hips. The second thing he realizes is that he isn’t alone. There’s a warm presence curled against his back, and the gentle rhythm of hot breath tickles his neck. 

Jesse lets out a controlled exhale and presses back into the warmth. The man behind him sighs gently, shifts, and settles a hand on his waist.

The events of last night come back to Jesse in pieces as he lay there. A sudden kiss; alternately rough and gentle hands; Shimada Hanzo bearing down on him like some avenging angel. He remembers dozing off with the archer draped over his chest and his metal hand carding through dark, silken strands. He remembers feeling better than he’d felt in a long time.

_Shit._

He didn’t take the time to wonder last night, aside from a moment of anxiety as Hanzo returned to bed, but he wonders now. He’s pleasantly sore with sunlight streaming warm over his skin and a gorgeous, fierce man at his back, and he has no idea what this means, but he wants to latch onto it with both hands and dig his heels in the sand. Except he doesn’t know if Hanzo reciprocated he advances last night because he’s as touch starved as Jesse, or if there’s something else there and he feels it, too. Wants it as devastatingly as Jesse does. He knows he made his intentions pretty clear; the problem is that Hanzo did not, and it makes Jesse’s inside twist something fierce, because part of him worries that the world’s given him too much back to let him have this, too. He was alone, and then the goddamned transmitter went off, flashing red, like some beacon in the darkness leading him back to the only family he’d ever really cherished. And as if that wasn’t enough, the world has dragged Jack, Ana, and Gabriel— fucking Gabriel, of all people— back from the dead and only to throw them back into his life. 

How the hell would Jesse McCree ever be lucky enough to get all of that and a man like Shimada Hanzo, as well?

“I can hear you thinking from here,” a sleepy voice grumbles into his hair. 

Jesse stiffens. “How’d ya know I was awake?”

A snort. “The way you breathe, cowboy. Observational skills you should have, considering your occupation.” Hanzo’s hand tightens on his waist, and he presses forward, chest plastered impossibly closer to Jesse’s back, his skin like a brand. “Are you regretting this already?”

Hanzo says it so seriously but so casually at the same time that Jesse nearly chokes on his own spit. “I, uh, no.”

“How believable.” 

“Worried you might be,” Jesse admits quietly. “I think I made myself pretty damned clear last night. Just not sure how you feel ‘bout it, s’all.” 

Hanzo hums his understanding and turns his head so that his cheek is pressed against the back of Jesse’s neck. “I was surprised, to find you at my door in such a state. I thought we had become friends, yes, but I did not think…”

The words trail off into an oppressive silence. Between Hanzo’s hard body behind him and his hand pressing into the soft skin at his waist, Jesse suddenly feels boxed in. He swallows down the rising panic of rejection and manages to sound pretty steady and unconcerned. “Y’don’t have to, y’know, feel the same. This could just be a thing that happened. No harm, no foul.”

“Is that what you want?”

The archer sounds so clinical it hurts. Jesse grits his teeth. “You already know the answer to that.” 

“I would like for you to tell me again,” Hanzo says, his voice devoid of emotion. 

“Is this a game to your or somethin’?” Jesse snaps, the anxiety finally bursting forth. “You want me to put myself out there n’ in the mean time, you give me nothin’ in return?”

Before he can react, the hand on his waist jerks him backwards, and then he’s on his back with Hanzo straddling him, hands gripping Jesse’s wrists and pinning them to the bed. Hanzo stares down at him, eyes dark and lips twisted into a frown. There’s a mark from the pillowcase on his left cheek, and his hair is disheveled, and there are bruises on the tops of his thighs where Jesse grabbed on tight the night before. Jesse has to stop himself from arching upwards, because the arousal is damn near immediate, but he can tell that this isn’t about that for Hanzo, not with the way he’s studying Jesse’s face. 

“A game?” the archer repeats. “You think I would allow you into my bed if this were a _game_ to me?”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jesse starts, even though maybe he did, but thankfully Hanzo cuts him off before he can dig his grave any deeper.

Hanzo’s words ramp up in intensity until he’s all but snarling them, teeth bared and an angry flush on his cheeks. “You were correct, those months ago, when you cornered me on the roof. I did not have partners that were not already approved or paid for by the Clan. Because of this, I have had few intimate interactions since I left them nearly eleven years ago. I do not give myself to someone without intention, Jesse McCree. A man is his actions, and I do not act without being sure mine speak the truth. I made the mistake of doing so once, and it cost me everything.” 

Something inside of Jesse positively quakes at the turn of phrase because it’s the excuse he used to hate Shimada Hanzo for months— years, really. He can feel the reverberation of it course through his entire body, crumbling the last of his reservations. 

“Please let me touch you,” Jesse whispers, _pleads_. 

Something in Hanzo’s expression crumples. His hold on Jesse’s wrists loosens. Jesse surges upwards into a sitting position, tearing out of Hanzo’s grip completely in the process. He jostles the other man enough that the suddenness of it forces him to grab onto Jesse’s shoulders. 

Jesse cups the archer’s face in his hands, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, before he slots their lips together.

“All I needed to know, darlin’,” he murmurs. “I just— I just needed t’be sure, ‘cause Hanzo, I’m fallin’ fast here.” 

“It is not just you,” Hanzo says breathlessly. "Now, tell me again, cowboy."

Jesse licks into his mouth, hands sliding up to grip handfuls of the archer’s hair. “Why y’want me to say it?”

Hanzo breaks the kiss but rests his forehead against Jesse’s. “Need I remind you that, until a few months ago, you despised me?”

“I remember us talkin’ about that, and I’m right sure I told you I was an idiot.”

“I do not disagree,” Hanzo hums, a smile playing on his lips, “but I wish to hear it none the less.”

Jesse sighs, loosening his hold of Hanzo’s hair to run his fingers through it instead, gently working out the tangles. “Genji… he was the best friend I ever had, you understand, and even though he’d forgiven ya, I just _couldn’t_. I didn’t understand how, and I didn’t want to because I didn’t think someone who coulda done somethin’ like that could change.” 

Hanzo closes his eyes, grip on Jesse’s shoulders tightening.

“But, hell, look at you. You’re not what I expected.”

“And what am I, then?”

“A decent man,” Jesse murmurs, tilting his head up to press a kiss to the corner of Hanzo’s mouth. “You didn’t call me on easedroppin’ on what was obviously a real damn personal talk with Jack even thought you had every right to. You forgave me at the drop of a hat when I admitted to you I was wrong even though ya didn’t really believe in what I was sayin’. You made me tea and kept me company and had my back— all of this after I treated you like garbage.”

“I did not blame you—”

“I know, and ain’t that the cherry on top. You didn’t hold a damned thing against me, and if that didn’t rend me somethin’ fierce. You’re brutal to your enemies n’yourself but forgive others without a second thought.” 

“Enough,” Hanzo murmurs fiercely, a flush darkening his cheeks. 

“Nuh uh, darlin’. You wanted t’hear it, and someone’s gotta tell you these things. I know for a fact you don’t tell ‘em to yourself.” He kisses the same spot again, at the corner of Hanzo’s mouth, then repeats the gesture on his cheek, the tip of his nose, his temple, his eyelid. “You’re fierce n’ sharp as a fuckin’ whip, n’so damned gorgeous. M’sorry it took me so long to realize it, but I did, and I’m with you now, sugar. I’m with you.”

Hanzo sucks in a ragged breath and then says, “You’re right. You are an idiot.”

Jesse can’t stop the laugh that bubbles up before he wraps his arms around the archer and kisses his lips. “Well, that ain’t changed in nearly forty years, so if it’s gonna be a problem, you should high tail it outta here now.” 

“I’ll take my chances,” Hanzo murmurs, kissing him back.

Jesse groans. “What else’ll you take?”

Without warning, Hanzo grips a handful of Jesse’s hair and tugs. Jesse gasps, head moving with the motion, and then moans brokenly as Hanzo sucks at the sensitive spot beneath his jaw hard enough to bruise. 

“You wish to be marked by the dragon?” he asks, teeth grazing the tender spot. 

At any other time, Jesse’s sure he’d laugh at such a ridiculous phrase, but right now, the possessiveness laced into those words sets him on fire. He grabs the other man’s hips and pushes down as he arches up. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, _yes._ ” 

Someone knocks. 

They both jolt at the sharp rapping sound, and then Hanzo slaps a hand fast over Jesse’s mouth just in time to muffle Jesse’s snort of a laugh. Hanzo’s eyes crease at the corners even as he glares at Jesse, lips pursed, demanding he stay quiet or else. Jesse would be offended that the archer very obviously doesn’t want whoever is there to know who’s sharing his bed, but he understands this is all very new and that Hanzo is a private person. Slow and steady steps’ll need to be taken. He can appreciate that. 

“Brother?” Genji’s voice calls from the other side of the door. “You missed meditation this morning, and it is unlike you to sleep in. Are you well?” 

Hanzo groans quietly in a _this can’t be happening_ kind of way. 

Except, Jesse doesn’t know if he wants slow and steady. He’s afraid Hanzo will slip through his fingers if he’s too careful. 

_Fuck it_ , he thinks and takes that moment to haul Hanzo off of him. The archer lands on the bed with a startled grunt and barely has time to react before Jesse is at the door, sheet wrapped around his waist. He smiles toothily over his shoulder, both for comedic effect and to give Hanzo a chance to reel him back in. 

The archer watches him for a few moments, then he sighs, rolls his eyes, and lays back on his pillow with a thud, making sure to drag the comforter up to cover himself. 

Another knock, this time more urgent. “Brother, are you well? Athena assured me you were in your quarters—”

Jesse taps a button and the door slides open. 

Genji stands there, hand raised. He isn’t wearing his visor, and Jesse is so goddamned glad he can hardly contain himself. There are moments when he prefers that the cyborg isn’t wearing his visor because his face is so expressive, and this is definitely one of those times. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” he says cheerfully, hands on his hips. “What can I do you for?”

Genji stares at him, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows high on his forehead, before he glances at the barrack room number painted on the wall— as if he maybe came to the wrong room, and oh, god, Jesse can hardly contain himself— and then over Jesse’s shoulder at his brother. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. 

“Sorry I kept him from meditation this mornin’. Won’t happen again.” 

“I will kill you,” Genji begins hotly, taking a step forward.

“I would strongly prefer if you did not,” Hanzo calls from inside the room. His voice is muffled enough that Jesse is sure he must have pulled the comforter completely over his face.

Genji stops moving, obviously unsure of how to proceed. 

“Now, Genji,” Jesse says, “listen. This isn’t what you think—”

Genji seethes and jabs at him in the chest hard enough that Jesse has to take a step back so he doesn’t loose his balance. “It better be what I think or I will tear you limb from limb, do you understand me? If this is some passing fancy of yours, you will require more than one prosthetic.”

Jesse just smiles wide, absolutely charmed by the turn of events and the younger Shimada’s protective streak. “Well, sounds like we’re all in agreement here, then.”

“I cannot believe this,” Genji groans and rubs a hand over his face. 

“Well, partner, glad to change things up a bit. You did tell me you wanted me to get along with your brother.”

Genji narrows his eyes. “This is not what I meant, and you know it.” 

“Ain’t a bad thing though, right?” Jesse murmurs, tilting his head to the side. “I’m down right serious ‘bout it, Genji.”

The cyborg sighs and shakes his head. “You better be.”

“Well, like I said, we’re both in agreement. Now, if ya don’t mind, I’m gonna head back to that bed over there.”

Genji grumbles under his breath in Japanese, taking one last look over Jesse’s shoulder as if he expects Hanzo to speak some sense to him, before he turns on his metal heel and heads down the hall.

Jesse closes the door with a chuckle and then moves towards the bed. The other man still lays there, covered, so he tugs the comforter away from Hanzo’s face. The archer is bright red from his hairline to his collarbone, but he looks like he’s trying not to smile. His dimples threaten to show. Something inside of Jesse melts. 

“That went better than expected,” Jesse says. He drags the blanket away from Hanzo completely and lets the sheet covering himself drop before he settles one knee onto the mattress and throws the other leg over the archer’s hips so he can sit astride him. “Now, where were we?” 

Hanzo’s face goes redder, but his pupils widen until Jesse can only make out a thin ring of warm brown. “I believe you were asking help from Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” 

He leans down and brushes his lips against Hanzo’s. “Darlin’, I don’t think even God could help me now.” 

***

Jesse sits with Gabe at the edge of one of the cliffs behind the base. It’s a calm afternoon, and the sky is clear and blue. Below them, the waves slosh lazily as they rise up to meet the eroded rocks, spraying a fine, cool mist of saltwater along the coast. Jesse relishes in the burn of the sun on his skin and the whiskey on his tongue as he takes a swig from his flask. The combination helps to calm his nerves and loosen his still-coiled muscles, the tension not yet gone after returning only a few hours prior from their most recent mission. He probably should have showered, he thinks, since his clothing still smells like the acrid smoke of explosives. He fingers a singed corner of his serape and grimaces. 

Gulls scream above them as a gust of wind tosses them around in the air. The hood of Gabe’s dark sweatshirt flies back, exposing the thoughtful frown on his face. 

“So,” Jesse muses, handing the flask to the other man. 

“So,” Gabe grunts in reply. 

“It’s strange, ain’t it?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Closin’ this chapter out.”

Gabe takes a drink. “Talon’s like a cockroach. End of the chapter, but probably not the end of the book.” 

“You were always a stick in the goddamned mud,” Jesse says good-naturedly, even though he knows Gabe’s probably right. If Talon’s taught them anything over the years, it’s that the organization is resilient and grows like a mold once the conditions are right. 

However, Jesse has to wonder how they’ll crawl back from this particular devastation, what with the majority of their bases raided and seized and their two best operatives now in Overwatch custody. Gabe’s been cleared for duty the last two months, and Amelie Lacroix, codenamed Widowmaker, is still undergoing testing and conditioning. But, even if she never comes back to them as Amelie, they don’t plan to let her go back to Talon as Widowmaker, either. They’d do right by her, regardless of how things panned out. They owe her that much. No one likes to talk about it, but Jesse knows they feel like they failed her. 

More than just her, if Jesse’s honest. There’s a lot of guilt being shouldered these days by the old soldiers who have reinvested themselves in Overwatch for a second time. Jesse can only hope, looking at the Shimada brothers as an example, that everyone will find their own way to redemption one day.

The brief thought of the Shimadas brings his mind straight back to Hanzo. He hasn’t seen the archer in nearly a month since he was sent out with another tactical group to Egypt, just brief holo-calls and the like. They’re due to arrive back this evening. Jesse’s fingers itch to touch him, to feel grounded again by his weight.

Gabe’s gravelly voice pulls him out of his own head. “Someone’s got to be practical.”

“Yeah, that’s what Ana and Jack were for,” Jesse says with a chuckle and then pauses. “Are for, I guess. Who’da thought. I still wonder if I’m dreamin’, sometimes, the lot of you back here. It’s damned strange.”

Gabe doesn’t reply.

Jesse leans back, pebbles digging into the palm of his flesh hand. He tilts his Stetson back with his metal fingers and glances at Gabe, who stares out at the water with a contemplative look on his face. 

“Gotta say, though,” he continues, “glad that particular chapter didn’t close out like we all expected. Was playin’ out to be a helluva sad endin’ for a while there.” 

“Yeah, kid,” Gabe murmurs, his strangely pale, merled skin pinkened by the warm sun streaming down on them. “Me, too. Glad, that is.” 

“Think this is gonna be the best one yet, _jefe_. S’got all the marks of a great story, ain’t it? I mean, there’s romance, explosions, redemption, and friendship that beats the odds, but then you throw in the cyborg ninja and a talkin’ gorilla. Good fuckin’ stuff.”

“You’re an idiot,” Gabe says gruffly, but his lips curl into a smile. 

Jesse just grins out at the sunlight-studded water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap. Thank you for your support and the amazing comments! You guys are the best. :)


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